Lethal Secrets
by TheUlmuri
Summary: Between the looming threat of WWIII and a transparent attack on his school, MI6's once reluctant teenage spy, seventeen-year-old Alex Rider’s two lives are about to come crashing together in the worst way possible. But even the best have limits.
1. Prologue: Inside Man

**So this is my first time posting fan fiction, though this document has been on my computer for quite a while. **

**The Alex of my imagination is tougher. He's older and wiser and he doesn't take shit from others. He's comfortable with who he is and what he does. He's flawed, sure, but he's no longer obsessed with finding a way out (that was the one thing about the books that always made me want to bang my head against the wall). The one thing I always wanted to see was Alex take charge and realize his full potential.**

**There are probably a handful of scenes in this story that have been done plenty of times before in this fandom, but I've tried to ad my own twist to them and take the plots in unexpected directions when you leas expect it. Also, there's plenty of influence from the likes of James Bond, Jason Bourne and some of my other favorite Ludlum novels. **

**This story definitely earns its M rating for violence and swearing, so be warned. There's plenty of fistfights, gun slinging, and knife wielding to go around. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough Said.**

**Enjoy.**

Summary: At 17, MI6's once reluctant teenage spy Alex Rider's two lives are about to come crashing together in the worst way possible. Between a large-scale attack on his school and the looming threat of World War III, the fate of the world is once again on his shoulders. Everyone knows that Alex is the best, but can he survive his most difficult mission to date and keep himself together when he is forced to face the betrayal of a lifetime?

Lethal Secrets

Mr. Bray was the headmaster of Brookland Comprehensive School in London. He was in his mid-fifties, beginning to bald and wore nondescript metal-framed glasses that went well with his collection of boring grey suits. He was the kind of principal that, despite his responsibilities, managed to find the time to take a personal interest in the lives and education of each of his students. It was one of these students that was sitting in his office across the desk from him now.

He was a young man in his late teens—seventeen to be exact— but he could have been easily mistaken for someone much older. He was well built; standing about 6'2" and well muscled, though not distractingly so. He had fair hair that flopped over his eyebrows and into his eyes and a piercing in one ear, in which he wore a simple steel stud. The young man moved with a smooth air of practiced control, and he radiated power and martial expertise even in stillness. His physical appearance alone was enough to hint at his dangerous nature, as well as attract plenty of women, but it was not the most shocking thing about him. No, the most shocking things about the young man were his eyes. They were brown and serious and it was obvious looking into them that they had seen much more than any person should seen in their first seventeen years— more than most see in a lifetime. They were a soldier's eyes, and while the depth of experience could clearly bee seen, they were otherwise emotionless, examining the world with a cool steadiness. The young man wore a black tee shirt, covered by a forest green Gore-Tex windbreaker, just tight enough to hint at his musculature, and a pair of camouflage cargo pants.

Alex Rider had been the mystery of Brookland since the death of his uncle just over three years previous. He had done well in school, was one of the football team's star athletes, and had many friends. He had been open and friendly to everyone. But it seemed that his uncle's death had started a downward trend. Soon after the incident, Alex had begun to disappear without notice for weeks at a time only to come back with an assortment of injuries, the flimsy excuse of sickness, and the threat of another disappearance to happen at any given time. Hardly anyone believed that Alex had really been sick— his appearance alone was usually enough to confirm that— and naturally, rumors of every shape and size had sprung up in the information gap. They ranged from drugs to gangs, arrests to prison sentences, and even a few of the more outlandish sort. Needless to say, none of them were positive as the student body preferred rumors of a more scandalous nature. Over time the doctor's notes had morphed into more plausible excuses but his track record and their frequency kept the student population— and the teachers for that matter— from giving them any merit.

When he _was_ in school, Alex was left with excessive amounts of homework to catch up on— a feat Mr. Bray had to admit he tended to accomplish quickly and efficiently. It had been touch-and-go at the beginning, but Alex had soon found a balance between his schoolwork and his absences. There was no doubt that the boy was extraordinarily intelligent— his GCSE scores were enough to prove that. But in the three years since his uncle's death, Alex's friends had dwindled down to a single individual, his best friend Tom Harris, and the other students made a point to avoid him, warning the new students to follow suit. Although he had miraculously maintained a captain's spot on the football team out of pure skill and an uncanny ability to keep others in line, he was rarely there to make use of the title and he had become reclusive and solitary, alienating himself from his team members. On top of all that, it was now known that Alex lived alone in his house in Chelsea, having become an emancipated minor when his guardian had died mysteriously just over a year earlier. There was no doubt though that he could take care of himself. It was apparent to many of the adults that the boy had aged and become more and more hardened with each absence.

It was no wonder then, that Mr. Bray was reluctant, in fact anxious, going into his discussion with Alex. The young man's demeanor alone was enough to warn him that it was best not to pry. Unfortunately though, the matter of Alex's attendance had come to a point where it was seriously threatening his education. There were questions of whether or not he could graduate at the end of the next spring term due to the fact that he was rarely in school and his frequent absences were enough to warrant expulsion at the end of the current term, effectively not allowing him to come back after the summer recess to finish his last year as an A level student. Even more than that, Mr. Bray was concerned for the young man's future. Even with a mind like his, no one would take him with such a patchy attendance record.

Mr. Bray shifted uncomfortably under Alex's steady gaze as the young man waited for him to begin. It was obvious that he knew what was coming. The headmaster cleared his throat before he spoke.

"Alex, I'm sure you know why I called this meeting. The fact is, that I can no longer ignore your constant absences. You have managed to keep up with your course work without issue and manage to remain at the top of your class, but the fact remains that your education and future are still at risk. Your absences create enough grounds to argue for letting you come back for the fall term and bar that, there has been debate on whether or not you should be allowed to graduate this coming June. Not only that, but I fear that you are going to have a very hard time finding employment."

Mr. Bray noticed the sardonic smile and the amusement that briefly appeared in Alex's eyes in response to his concerns. He was confused, but he mentally shook himself and plowed on. "You are well aware that no one believes the reasons that you have given for your absences in the past three years. They are over used and the absences to frequent and to long. If you had really had every sickness that you have claimed to have, you would be a medical miracle to still be alive by now."

The amusement in Alex's eyes was more evident at that statement but Mr. Bray still wasn't finished. He hated to do it but it had come to the point where the ultimatum was necessary. "If you can't give me a legitimate reason for your continued absences then I will have to seriously consider asking you to leave the school. It is not a choice I wish to make, but the likely hood that you will be able to continue your education at this school is slim to none."

Alex continued to gaze steadily at Mr. Bray in complete silence. He appeared relaxed, but there was a sense of underlying tension in his muscles. Mr. Bray sensed that there was a calculating nature to Alex's gaze, as if the young man was sizing him up. He shivered under its intensity.

The silence stretched on for a moment before Alex seemed to make a decision. He reached into his back pocket for his cell phone, keeping his eyes locked with Mr. Bray's. "I knew that this would happen eventually," he muttered as he flipped open the phone and dialed a preprogrammed number and brought the phone to his ear.

Mr. Bray frowned at the action in disapproval. "Alex, what—"

"I'm requesting clearance. Have you ever thought that there may be a reason I don't talk about my absences?" Alex's tone was calm, but held an edge of sharpness that warned the principal not to interrupt again. There was silence for a moment as Alex waited for the person on the other end to pick up.

Finally, there was a rustle as the phone on the other end was removed from its cradle and a voice came over the line. _"Yes?"_ the person said, not bothering with cursory pleasantries.

"This is Rider," Alex said curtly, "Patch me through to Jones."

There was a pause before Mrs. Jones' voice came through the line. _"Yes, Alex?"_

"I'm in a meeting with my principal right now and he has just relayed the news that unless I can give him a legitimate excuse— and by that he means the truth— for my absences, I risk expulsion from the school."

"_I assume you are asking for clearance? You know how sensitive this information is Alex."_

"You know as well as I do that I'm no use to you uneducated," Alex growled, ignoring the headmaster's confused expression. "There's going to come a time when I'll need the official educational credentials in my background, if I am going to continue to be successful. If Brookland kicks me out, my attendance is going to keep me from being admitted anywhere else."

There was a pause as Mrs. Jones considered the situation. After a long moment, she sighed. _"Alright, you have a point. And despite the security risks, its probably better if you have an adult in the building that is on your side."_

"What a nice change that will be," Alex muttered sarcastically. "Send someone over with a copy of the OSA so we can get down to business. I don't want to be here all day."

"_I'm sending Ben over now."_

"Isn't he busy?"

"_He got in thirty minutes ago."_

"Good to hear," he replied sarcastically.

Unlike Mrs. Jones, Mr. Bray was oblivious to the undercurrents of disapproval, concern, and relief in Alex's voice.

"_He'll be there in ten minutes. Good bye Alex."_

"Roger that." Alex ended the call and returned the cell phone to his pocket before returning his attention to a very confused Mr. Bray. Alex knew that the headmaster was waiting for an explanation but he remained silent.

After a moment, Mr. Bray's patience began to wane. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Well?"

"We are waiting for one of my co-workers to arrive. There is some documentation that you need to sign before I am allowed to speak to you."

By this time, Mr. Bray was exceptionally confused. Why would he need to sign anything in order to hear the truth? And what did Alex mean by co-workers? He decided to clear that question up since it seemed to be the safest part of the whole topic. "Co-workers?"

Alex gave a small smile but the headmaster noticed that it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes. Co-workers. See, despite your concerns that my frequent absences will prove hurtful in the future, the truth is those very absences are connected to the fact that I already have a very demanding job. One that makes it necessary for me to travel a fair amount."

"And you have had this job since you were fourteen?"

"Yes."

"What kind of job is this?"

"All will be explained momentarily; as soon as you have signed all of the appropriate paperwork."

"Paperwork," Mr. Bray muttered under his breath. He was still too confused to say anything else. Alex just gave another small smile.

"I guess in the meantime, I guess we can discuss Academics," Alex said eventually. "I know you're concerned with whether or not my admittedly less-than-stellar attendance record will count against me in terms of higher education, but what you aren't aware of is the fact that I've done quite a lot of university level independent study in whatever free time I manage to find. In fact, I've done enough independently to equal the amount of study needed for several degrees in various areas of specialization."

"I see," the headmaster said slowly. He knew what Alex was saying was entirely plausible—the young man's IQ was off the charts and he soaked up information like a sponge—it was definitely within his abilities of he could find the time. Mr. Bray was shocked that it had happened right under his nose, yet no one was ever really sure of what was happening when it came to Alex Rider.

"Yes," Alex replied, amusement sparking in his eyes. "I'm not too fussed about university, Mr. Bray. I learn what I need to when I need it and occupy myself with whatever interests me in between. I already have a secure, well paying job and as far as my superiors are concerned, it makes no difference whether I continue to pursue education at a higher level institution or on my own time."

"Right," Mr. Bray muttered, noticing how everything about Alex seemed to circulate back to his absences and what really happened while he was gone. "Your job."

Alex let another amused slide across his face as the conversation hit a dead end and the headmaster frowned as he became caught up in his thoughts.

Silence enveloped them as they waited for Ben to arrive and several minutes later there was a soft rap on the door before Ben entered the office without waiting for an invitation. He smiled tiredly as he approached Alex. It was evident from his appearance that he was exhausted, and his right arm was in a sling.

Alex frowned at the sling, his eyes narrowing. "What happened this time?" he asked by way of a greeting as he grasped Ben's good arm firmly.

"Dislocation. They wouldn't usually put it in a sling but given past injuries…"

Ben sighed and a shadow of guilt crossed Alex's face. Neither him nor Alex was eager to discuss the events on Dragon 9.

They were pulled out of their brooding by the sound of Mr. Bray clearing his throat. It was apparent the headmaster was tired of being ignored.

Alex pulled himself out of his depressing train of thought to make the introduction. "Ben, this is the headmaster of Brookland, Mr. Henry Bray. Mr. Bray, this is my co-worker, Benjamin Daniels."

The two men nodded in acknowledgement and shook hands before settling into their chairs.

Alex turned his attention to Ben. "You have the paperwork?"

Ben nodded silently in response and handed Alex the document.

Alex continued, this time addressing the headmaster. "This is a copy of the Official Secrets Act. As I'm sure you are aware, by signing your name you are guaranteeing that you will not tell anyone what we are about to tell you here today. You will need to sign it before we can continue." Alex slid the document across the desk as Mr. Bray stared at him in bewilderment.

"The Official Secrets Act?" he asked incredulously, his mind filled with ideas of what Alex would have to be involved in to require that he sign official government paperwork to guarantee his silence.

Alex nodded. It was clear to the headmaster that he would not be offering up any more information until the document was signed. Mr. Bray sighed and pulled the document toward him and signed his name shakily on the line. He was beginning to wonder what he had gotten himself into when he had requested to know the truth. When he had signed the document he pushed it back toward the other side of the desk and Daniels retrieved it, tucking it into an inside pocked of his jacket. He then looked at Alex expectantly.

Alex sighed, rubbing his temples and squeezing his eyes shut before he began. After a moment he opened his eyes, boring them into Mr. Bray's. "The things I'm about to tell you are highly classified state secrets. There's no easy way to tell you, so I'm not going to beat around the bush. I'll start by making a more proper introduction." He paused before jutting his chin in Ben's direction and continuing. "This is _Agent _Ben Daniels. He works for the Special Operations division of MI6…as do I."

There was silence for a moment as Alex gave a minute for his declaration to sink in. Mr. Bray was shocked. Out of all the things it could have been, this answer was the least expected and he was speechless.

Eventually, he managed to choke out a response. "A Special Ops Agent?" he asked disbelievingly, "You mean to say that you're a spy?"

"Yes." This time it was Ben who answered, and his assured tone went a long way in wiping away any of the headmaster's hopes that the whole situation was one big hoax. "Alex completed his first round of training with my unit when I was in the Special Air Service. I have worked with him on an assignment several times since I was switched over to MI6."

Mr. Bray's gaze kept flickering between the two stoic men sitting across from him as he struggled to come to terms with what he was being told. His mind was rebelling against the flood of information- what he was hearing could not be possible. No one in his right mind would make a spy out of a fourteen-year-old boy. He frowned at this thought and focused his attention back on Alex. "You've been doing this since you were fourteen?" he questioned angrily, disturbed that his government would willingly endanger the life of a teenage boy with full knowledge of the possible consequences.

Alex nodded curtly in response.

"How did you get involved? Aren't you far to young for this line of work?"

"It runs in the family," Alex responded dryly. "My father and uncle were two of the best spies MI6 ever had. Both of them died for the job. My uncle had been training me to follow in their footsteps since I could walk. When he was killed on assignment, I was brought in to finish his operation."

"But why couldn't they just send in another agent?"

"To obvious. Ian Rider was one of the best, and even his cover didn't hold. They would have been expecting another adult. It was easier for me to infiltrate since no one expected me to have an ulterior motive."

"So all of your absences…"

"Subsequent missions."

"So you were never really sick. Not that we all hadn't guessed that already."

Alex let out a humorless chuckle before answering. "There are only a few times where I was actually in the hospital and they were due to injuries inflicted on assignment."

Mr. Bray rose an eyebrow "Any I should know about?" he enquired dryly, but with a hint of concern.

"I think I'll keep that to myself for now," Alex replied.

"I can only assume that the injuries were horrific if you refuse to talk about them," the headmaster said before he quietly expressed the thought that had been nagging him since the beginning of their talk. "I can't believe that the government would put a child in a life threatening situation!" he muttered, "It must be illegal."

It was at this point that Daniels reentered the conversation. "You should know that Alex is one of the nations best kept secrets. He is the source of major success for both MI6 and the CIA. From the outset he quickly became one of MI6's most effective operatives. In other words, he is the most powerful secret weapon that this country has ever had. He was asked to attend a meeting of COBRA and became the youngest human being in space all before he turned fifteen. He has been a leader in bringing down plots of some of the world's worst terror organizations where no other operative had been successful. The government never would have employed him if it weren't for his aptitude for success."

Mr. Bray stared incredulously at the two agents. He did not want to believe what he was hearing but the fact alone that Alex was making no effort to refute the older man's words forced the headmaster to believe that Daniels was speaking the truth. It was a known fact that Alex was honest where possible, despite the speculation over his shaky cover stories, and this was just to big to lie about.

After a minute, Alex spoke up. "As, you may have realized, my reputation in the field has earned me a very long list of enemies. Precautions have been taken to prevent attempts on my life while I'm not on assignment. The school is under 24 hour watch by government agents, but there is always the chance that something my happen. That is why, for the most part, I rely on instinct and training to keep myself alive."

"And what kind of training have you had?" Mr. Bray questioned.

"As I said earlier, my uncle had been teaching me the skills of an effective spy from a very young age. I have done karate since the age of six and have achieved the level of eighth _dan_ and I have picked up black belts of various degrees in seven other martial arts. When I was first approached by MI6, I was given an eleven-day crash course in SAS survival technique at their camp up in the Welsh Beacons. I train with the SAS every summer and winter break and completed and passed every phase of the SAS selection process before I turned sixteen. I also have an extensive amount of comprehensive weapons training, though I did not receive it through MI6 or the SAS."

"How extensive?" Mr. Bray asked warily as he began to realize just how lethal the young man in front of him actually was.

Alex smirked, a deadly glint flashing in his eyes. "Lets just say that I can shoot just about anything with 100% accuracy, among many other things."

Mr. Bray shivered at Alex's response but he plowed on. He had one more question that he deemed important concerning Alex's mastery of weapons.

"Do you carry concealed?" he asked quietly, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Instead of answering right away, Alex reached behind his back and silently pulled his gun—a Sig Sauer p229 DAK pistol— from the holster at the small of his back, where it had been concealed by his jacket and the hem of his shirt. He placed it on the desk in front of him and the headmaster eyed the weapon warily. "All the time." Alex stated quietly.

"Even in school?" Mr. Bray asked, a tad sharply.

Alex eyed him steadily and once again Mr. Bray was unnerved by his cool, emotionless disposition. Alex waited until the headmaster looked away before he spoke again. "My government status grants me the right to carry concealed at all times. I have too many enemies out there to ever relax my guard by going anywhere unarmed. I also carry several other concealed weapons— usually knives— with me at all times," Alex paused for a moment to remove a Steel Eagle 107c tactical ops combat knife from a sheath strapped under his shirt and between his shoulder blades and then its twin from the sheath strapped to his calf and placed one of the deadly looking blades on the desk next to his gun while he twirled the other casually in his hands.

The headmaster noticed that the teen handled the blade with a finesse that could only be gained by an intimate understanding of how to use it.

"The security risks are also the reason I drive, rather than bike to school," Alex continued. "That's not just a car out there," he said, jerking his chin towards the parking lot, where his prize possession was parked, "It's a class three armored vehicle."

"Ah, we were all wondering about that Aston Martin. I think that many of the students are under the impression that you stole it." Mr. Bray said with evident humor in his voice.

Alex chuckled, and for the first time real humor entered his tone. "Well that would fit the image of me that they have created. What can I say though? My job pays well."

"And you just had to go for the Bond car," Daniels inserted dryly.

At this Alex outright laughed, something that Mr. Bray hadn't seen him do since before his disappearances began. "Maybe," he conceded. "I might not be a fan of Bond, but if there is one thing that the man got right, it was his taste in cars." He sighed and seemed to sober up in an instant, only a hint of the previous humor remaining. "I'll never have time to really spend the money I make anyway. The least I could do was buy the car of my dreams."

There was a pause before Alex continued. "Well I think we have covered the necessary information. I'm assuming that we have explained the situation satisfactorily and that the question of my expulsion is now cleared up?" He asked as he swiftly stowed away his weapons.

Mr. Bray sighed. He was overwhelmed with what he had learned about one of his students in such a short period of time. His view of Alex had suddenly been transformed from the school's problem child to one of the nations most closely guarded, not to mention lethal, secrets. The fact was that the day's revelations made the man feel slightly uncomfortable with Alex. It was unnerving to know the extent of the danger that lurked both within and around him. The thought made the older man shiver.

"Alright," he said finally. "Given the circumstances I believe that we will be able to keep you here at the school. You are doing extremely well in keeping up with your course work and I can't fault you on what you are doing when you are not here, even if I am not particularly fond of the situation. The fact that you carry a concealed firearm and several blades to school makes me uncomfortable, but I can see the wisdom in it. Let me make it very clear though that I expect it to remain concealed unless you are in a situation of upmost need."

Alex nodded in acquiescence, "Agreed," he said. "That's standard procedure anyway."

"Good. Then I expect to see you back at the start of the fall term Mr. Rider."

The three of them stood up and shook hands before Daniels took off back to SO headquarters to return the paperwork. Alex made his way to his Aston Martin in the parking lot and headed home. Mr. Bray sat at his desk fighting mental exhaustion, his face buried in his hands. He was struggling to come to terms with the day's turn of events and attempting to bully his mind into preparing for the line up of meetings he had later that night in order to prepare for end of the current spring term in two month's time.

**Tell me what you think!**


	2. Part I: Exposure

**Hey, everybody! Thank you for all the great feedback, I'm glad that you're enjoying the story so far. Thanks especially to prone2dementia and Rid3r Chick for my first two, very encouraging reviews. They were a great boost of confidence for someone who had been wary about sharing their writing for so long.**

**Things are going to pick up really quickly in Alex's world so strap in and get ready for some action. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough Said.**

Part I: Exposure

The month following Alex's meeting with Mr. Bray was uneventful. The students of Brookland Comprehensive returned from the spring recess on May first, many of them surprised that Alex was still present for the last stretch of term. The rumors and speculation among the students were still the same as before the meeting, but Alex hadn't expected that to change. The headmaster had been sworn to secrecy after all. The teachers however seemed to regard him with slightly less suspicion and Alex suspected that Mr. Bray had said something to appease them. Even if they didn't know the truth, they knew better than to question further into the matter.

It was on a Monday, two weeks after term had resumed that everything had fallen apart.

Alex had woken up at five o'clock as he usually did, rolled out of bed, and started the shower. Life as a spy had trained him to sleep lightly and wake up early and had conditioned his body to function in top form on very little sleep. He dressed in his usual attire of cargo pants and bulletproof shirt surmounted by his and a black tee shirt. He walked over to his bed and retrieved his gun and knives from the top drawer of the bedside table and slipped them into place and grabbed two spare clips of bullets from the same drawer, dropping them into one of the many pockets of his pants. He then snached his MI6 issue watch and cell phone from the bedside table, sliding the phone into another pocket and securing the watch around his left wrist.

After suiting up for the day, Alex made his way down to the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal. He rinsed out the bowl and placed it in the sink before walking into the front hall, dawning his windbreaker, grabbing his car keys and leaving the house. He got into his sleek, black 2009 Aston Martin DBS Coup and drove to school.

Alex was hit with a sense of foreboding the moment he stepped out of his car— a relentless feeling lingering in the back of his mind that told him something wasn't quite right. After years of experience, Alex knew better than to ignore his instincts, and he immediately went on guard. To the untrained outside observer, there would be no change, he would still appear calm and relaxed, however anyone with a more practiced eye would be able to see that he was alert and tense, prepared for any kind of attack.

Regardless of his misgivings, Alex knew that there was nothing he could do for the moment. Though the warning of a threat was there, there was nothing to suggest that the danger was immediate and even if thas wasn't the case, Alex knew that he was under the intense scrutiny of his classmates. He snorted quietly at the irony of it; every person in the school besides Tom went out of their way to avoid him, but he was, paradoxically, the constant object of their stares and whispers.

Alex locked his car, stowed the keys and walked swiftly into the building, his senses still on high alert. He met Tom at his locker and the two of them made their way towards their homeroom. The morning passed normally as Alex went from class to class. As usual, he sat quietly in the back and focused diligently on the teacher's lecture. He sat with Tom and, when that wasn't an option, he sat alone. He never knew when he would be sent out again so it was important to him to focus on school while he had the chance, even if it had long since lacked challenge.

Despite the appearance of normalcy, Alex still couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong.

The bell rang after his second class and he made his way to maths. As usual, the people in the hall parted for him to pass through— no one really wanted to get too close to him any more. Alex smiled sardonically to himself. His classmates' behavior amused him. He knew that they were truly afraid of him. There was a time when that knowledge would have bothered him, but the last thing he was ever worried about anymore was acceptance. Alex walked into the maths classroom and nodded a greeting to the teacher, Mr. Donovan and took his seat at the back of the room. As the teacher's lecture started, the warning bells in his head that had been going off all morning intensified. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and scanned the room and the portion of the grounds that he could see outside the window with a slight frown in his face— his only sign of emotion. He still had not seen anything that was markedly out of place and the lack of answers was beginning to worry him. He continued to do routine scans through out the lesson, paying less attention to the lecture than usual.

Finally, the bell rang and the students filed out and headed towards the cafeteria. There was a perceptible jump of excitement in the atmosphere of the room as the students began to chatter carelessly to each other. Alex knew that they were looking forward to the assembly that would be taking place after lunch in the auditorium. A famous alumnus of the school was coming back to talk to them about career planning and to make a donation to the school, which had been struggling financially ever since the science wing had been blown up under mysterious circumstances and a fire had ripped through it, something— though the rest of the school didn't know it— Alex was partially to blame for.

Alex grabbed an apple and a sandwich and sat down at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria. Tom joined him shortly afterwards and they talked quietly as they ate. Eventually, Tom took notice of Alex's tense and watchful posture. "What's wrong, Alex?" he asked.

Alex rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and spoke. "Something just feels out of place. Has all day." He looked over and caught sight of Tom's worried expression. "I haven't seen anything yet," he continued, "but I learned a long time ago that not listening to my instincts is a bad idea."

Tom frowned. "Do you think anything is going to happen?"

"I don't know," Alex sighed. "I hope not."

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch and they got up to follow the other students to the auditorium. As they entered the auditorium, Alex slipped into the last row of chairs. It was cast in shadow and was never used by the other students. Tom noticed this and rose and eyebrow at Alex.

"Go sit with your other friends, Tom. I'm going to need the space to concentrate."

Tom frowned and hesitated before he nodded and found a seat with a group of boys from the football team. Despite his association with Alex, most of Tom's friendships had remained intact. Alex watched as Tom settled down with the other boys and joined their conversation. He was glad that his reputation hadn't hurt that of his only friend's.

Alex leaned into the shadows of the back row and slipped his windbreaker off. He sat two seats in from the isle where he was more likely to go unnoticed. He knew that if his intuition was correct and someone was to attack, it would most likely happen during the assembly. Not only would it keep the hostages consolidated, but the attackers would also gain a rather well known hostage as leverage and the layout of the crowded room would make it more difficult to fight back without endangering civilian lives. Alex didn't pay attention as Mr. Bray introduced the speaker and the lecture began. He continued to scan the room, taking everything in, already plotting out what he would be able to do in a fight— a fight he still wasn't sure that would happen.

He turned to Mr. Bray as the man shuffled into the back row from the opposite side of the row of seats and came to sit beside him. This was another reason the other students avoided the back row— it was where the principal sat and no one wanted to be near the principal when their attention began to wane and they started to fool around.

Mr. Bray looked over at Alex and noticed that his attention was everywhere but the speaker. If it was any other student he would have reprimanded them but Alex's recent revelations tipped him off that when he wasn't doing what was expected of him, then there was a very good reason for it. Mr. Bray gave him a questioning glance and watched as Alex hesitated before he responded.

"Something isn't right," he clarified quietly.

As if those three words had started a chain reaction, the doors of the auditorium burst open and twenty armed men-dressed in black combat gear and face masks filled through followed by two men, dressed immaculately in what was obviously designer clothing. The first of the two was a small Asian man in a perfectly tailored navy blue suit. His bald and spotted head and golden wire framed glasses reflected the dim lighting that illuminated the room and his satisfied expression held undertones of malicious intent. The second man was tall and well built and dressed more simply than his Asian counterpart, who he casually followed into the room. His skin was tanned and weather beaten, taking on an almost leathery appearance that spoke of long time exposure to the elements. His jaw was covered by a short, scrubby, brown beard and his icy blue eyes flashed with vicious intent beneath his dark eyebrows. Together, the two men were more intimidating than all of their accompanying soldiers put together and Alex's recognition of them was immediate.

The invaders quickly barred the doors and moved into position as soon as all twenty-two of them had filed into the room. Nineteen of the armed combatants created a perimeter around the occupants of the hall who had fallen silent when they had burst in while the last of the soldiers mounted the stage with the two other men.

Alex had remained still and silent through out the whole episode, hidden in the shadows. Only the fiery spark in his eyes gave away his anger. He kept his appearance relaxed but the tension was rolling off of him in palpable waves. Every person in the school had their attention focused on the intruders who were now accosting the guest speaker.

Mr. Bray finally tore his eyes away from the men and looked apprehensively at Alex.

Alex had hit a discreet button on the side of his watch opening up a comm. link with MI6 and was now to muttering quietly, seemingly to himself. He pressed a hand to his right ear and when he finally pulled it away, the small earpiece that he was talking into was visible. When he was finished speaking, Alex pulled his gun from the holster at the small of his back and flicked the safety off before slipping it back in place. He was aware of the the principal's anxious gaze burning into him but he chose to ignore it as he turned his attention back to the events unfolding in front of him, making sure to keep his face devoid of emotion.

Mr. Bray finally broke the tense and expecting silence that hung between them. "What do we do?" he whispered frantically, looking to Alex for directions on how to handle the situation.

"Timing is everything, but this is Scorpia. Things are bound to get messy," Alex muttered mysteriously in response while keeping his attention fixed on the stage where the two men had begun to speak.

"What do you want from me," the guest speaker asked shakily. Of course, the man had assumed that they wanted him since he was relatively influential and they had made a beeline towards the stage.

Alex on the other hand knew better. These two men were members of Scorpia's executive board: the Australian and Dr. Three; they were here for him.

His suspicions were confirmed moments later when Dr. Three laughed sadistically. "We're not here for you." He said, a vicious edge to his voice, "No, were here for someone much more important."

Mr. Bray returned his attention to Alex in response to this statement. He was horrified. These were the type of men that the government sent a teenager to take on? He couldn't understand how Alex was remaining so calm.

The speaker grew even more wary at the Asian man's statement, catching the unmistakable edge of menace in the small man's voice. "And what do you plan to do with this person when you find him?" he asked, his eyes flickering over the armed men.

"Kill him," the Australian said simply.

That was when one of Alex's classmates decided to make a brave but stupid move. Tyler Proft was one of the most popular kids at school. He was eighteen and well built— one of the school's star athletes, but also arrogant and self absorbed. Unfortunately, Tyler chose this moment to try to play the hero. He stood up from his isle seat and confronted the two men. "Who the hell are you? What's so important that you have to barge into a school to kill someone?"

Alex knew immediately that the men weren't going to play nice with Tyler. They would kill first and answer questions afterwards— if they answered them at all. His suspicions were confirmed as one of the masked men adjusted his gun and aimed at the boy and Alex decided that it was time for him to make his move. Within seconds he was out of his seat and sprinting down the isle. He tackled Tyler to the ground as the man's gun went off and the bullet whizzed over their heads.

"Are you stupid?" Alex growled at Tyler. "Get back in your seat and if you're lucky they won't kill you."

Tyler looked at him in shock for a moment before his anger took over. "And what would you know about it Rider?" he sneered.

"Oh I'm sure Mr. Rider here has plenty of plans, boy," the Australian interjected casually before Alex could answer. "You see Alex Rider is the person we are here to kill." He turned his gaze from Tyler to Alex, a mocking smile on his face. "Now that you have made your presence known, why don't you come up here and join us, Alex?"

Alex stood his ground, rolling his weight onto the balls of his feet. He could feet the guns of each of the men trained on him and he wanted to be able to move out of the line of fire as quickly as possible when the time came. "That's okay, I'll stay right here," he said quietly, but the sound carried easily though the quiet space. It was impossible to miss the venom with which he said the words.

"That wasn't a request."

"Oh, I know."

Alex felt the man coming up behind him and moved before he had a chance to strike. He twisted around and lashed out with a back fist to the least protected part of his skull: his temple. The soldier, who wasn't expecting the move, didn't have enough time to put up a block and crumpled unconscious to the floor.

Half of the remaining guards sprung into action upon seeing their comrade's failure, rushing at Alex from all sides. It was obvious that their plan at this point was to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. Alex reacted instantly. He roughly shoved Tyler back into his seat and eased into a ready position as his assailants reached him. He ducked under a kick from one attacker and retaliated with a swift kidney jab before he twisted to parry a blow from a second adversary. He blocked a second blow to the head before delivering a brutal uppercut to the jaw of one of the men, causing him to crumple to the ground. The fight continued in a similar fashion and Alex realized that he was slowly being herded towards the stage where the two board members stood. He immediately knew it was no coincidence. Although Alex outmatched his opponents in strength and speed he was severely outnumbered, causing him to receive just as many hits as he gave. His knuckles were already showing evidence of their abuse and his could feel the beginning stages of the bruises that were sure to appear on his body, but he knew better than to stop.

Alex barely saw the knife coming before it was inches away from his face. He just had time to lean back as it swung past, grazing his throat and leaving a thin red line in its wake. He instantly retaliated with a high roundhouse kick, which clipped the man on the shoulder as he swiftly drew one of his own knifes from his back. Two more men quickly advanced as the knife wielding attacker rushed at him again, swinging his knife in a high arc. Alex blocked the knife with his own blade and grabbed the wrist of his adversary's knife hand as he powered a sidekick into his abdomen, causing the man to fall backwards. He twisted his knife hand around just in time to gut the next attacker who had grabbed him behind before he twisted swiftly out of his enemy's grasp.

Alex grunted as the third man grabbed his wrist and twisted forcefully, causing him to drop his blade. The first man— now weaponless— dove for the blade, but Alex swiftly kicked it under the rows of seats before he could reach it and used what leverage he had to throw the assassin gripping his wrist forwards over his shoulder. The man quickly recovered and he and his former knife wielding comrade proceeded to attack simultaneously from both side. Alex had his gun out in an instant. He whipped it around and fired at the first man while using his other hand to stop the second man's blow by grabbing his wrist. The bullet hit the first assailant in the chest and he crumpled as Alex twisted around and used his weapon to pistol whip the other man, causing him to fall the ground. Screams erupted from the students at the tell tale sound of gunfire and the rest of the terrorist soldiers, who had been hanging back, rushed to join the fight. Alex ignored the screams and finished with the second attacker knocking him out with a knee to the temple as he attempted to get back up.

A second shot rang out and Alex was brought to his knees, winded by the force of the bullet that hit his own chest, but his bulletproof shirt had blocked the worst of the shot. More screams erupted as his classmates assumed the worst but it stopped abruptly as Alex's arms shot up to block a blow aimed at his head and rose swiftly to his feet. The gunfire broke out again and Alex rolled to the ground and began running in a crouch to avoid the shots. He held down the comm. link button on his watch to reopen the connection and pressed his hand to the earpiece as he ran.

"Blunt, where the hell is my back up?" he yelled before raising his gun once again and returning fire until he had run out of rounds. He released the empty cartridge and shoved an extra one into the gun with one swift and practiced move and began firing again without missing a beat. He made sure to never stay in one location long, running at a crouch and rolling into position to avoid giving the men an easy target. Several times he felt an intense burning pain on his arms and legs as bullets grazed his extremities, leaving reminders of how close they had come to ending his life. He winced as on particular bullet grazed the skin of his shoulder, tearing though both shirts. Smithers' Kevlar fiber shirts, while brilliant at blocking direct hits, had their limits and were much less effective at blocking indirect hits, grazing shots, and high caliber rounds.

Blunt's answer came as Alex once again became engaged in the exchange of fire. He could hear it coming loud and clear through the comm. link's earpiece. "This is a logistical nightmare, Alex. No one knows what happened to the security around the school and it takes time to call up units and put together a team with the right clearance."

"Bloody brilliant," Alex growled. MI6 was always slow on back up when it came to him and he wished that, just for once, they would act first and worry about protocol later. After all, that practice had been serving Alex well for years.

By this time, there were only five of the original twenty Scorpia soldiers left standing: four in the fight and the fifth one still standing with the Australian and Dr. Three. None of the first four were currently shooting at him or in his immediate vicinity so he used the momentary reprieve to get his bearings.

Alex knew that there were injuries among the crowd— it was inevitable with all of the stray bullets that were flying around and his assumptions were confirmed by several moans and screams of pain from the student body. Many of the students were cowering in their seats or sitting frozen in shock and fear as they watched the progression of the fight while others still were just barely fighting off full blown anxiety attacks. Many of the younger students were crying and calling out to one another while the older students remained a slightly more composed. Mr. Bray and the teachers were watching in worry and fear or cowering along with the students, unsure of what to do while the guest speaker still stood on a removed corner of the stage, to shocked to move or speak and unable to take in the turn of events.

But Alex only had a second to take this in because Tyler Proft had also decided to use this pause to make another brave but incredibly stupid move.

Alex didn't know what had motivated him to do so but as the four remaining men began to spread out and close in on Alex, who was standing near the front of the stage, Tyler rose from his seat and began to rush at the man that was standing nearest to him with his back towards the boy. Of course, the man heard the teen coming and turned around with a wicked smile on his face and Alex knew that it didn't bode well for the boy.

"Tyler sit down!" he commanded, but it was already too late.

The assassin raised his gun and fired at the boy hitting him in the arm and Tyler crumpled at the man's feet. The soldier stood above him before stomping his foot down heavily on the boy's chest.

Alex's response was immediate. He swung his own gun around and shot the man in the temple. He crumpled to the floor— half on top of Tyler, as the fighting broke out once again. Alex dodged another shot, holstered his weapon and charged one of the men. He caught hold of the man's gun and used it as leverage to swing the man around, bringing him into the line of fire and blocking the shot that the second man had just aimed at his vulnerable back. Alex let go of the man and he fell heavily to the ground and he wasted no time in confronting the first of the two remaining men. He moved so swiftly that the assassin didn't have time to put up a defense before Alex had sunk a knee into his stomach while simultaneously driving his elbow into the man's temple.

Now there was only one man remaining. The soldier threw his gun down, realizing that it would be of no use and the two of them sunk into the ready positions of martial arts masters. They circled each other for a while before the man made the first move, lashing out with a back kick aimed towards Alex's chest. Alex dodged the blow and caught the man's foot, using the leverage to throw the assassin to the ground. The man sprung up quickly but barely managed to block Alex's returning uppercut. The fight continued for a couple of moments, both combatants giving and receiving blows before Alex managed to get through with a powerful kidney jab that caused his opponent to double over. He quickly brought his knee up to connect with the man's head and the soldier keeled over, motionless.

Alex slowly straightened out of his aggressive stance in the following silence that followed the end of the fight. The quiet was permeated only by the whimpers and cries from the other students. Alex's chest was heaving with exertion and he was covered with a myriad of cuts and bruises of varying degrees of injury. Blood was seeping slowly from several grazes and the wound on his neck and he knew that he would have a couple of nasty bruises on his chest and back from the shots his shirt had deflected. His knuckles were raw and hands bloody and his entire body was sore to the bone.

Suddenly, after a few moments of deafening silence, a single figure from the stage began to clap. Alex turned to face the man that was applauding him and was met by the malignant smile of Dr. Three. The Australian stood beside him, now holding the guest speaker by the neck with one hand while the other held a gun trained on his temple. "Well done, Alex," laughed Dr. Three, "You turned out to be quite lethal after all."

Alex snorted and began to stalk slowly towards the stage from his place in the center isle, releasing the second empty clip from the gun as he went. His last clip clicked menacingly into place in the tense silence as he stepped over the bodies of fallen Scorpia operatives. Backup still hadn't arrived and he didn't want to risk the life of the man the Australian was now holding by dragging the situation out any longer. He was already well aware of Tyler who was lying prone on the ground, breathing shallowly. He answered the Asian man as he approached. "Only when necessary Three, and you must admit that today you gave me no choice."

Dr. Three laughed again as Alex mounted the stage and the Australian pushed the muzzle of his gun harder against the speaker's temple and the last masked man cocked his gun. Alex stopped advancing. He was now ten feet away from the four other people who occupied the stage.

"Is that how you justify becoming one of the deadliest people on the planet?" the Asian man asked.

Alex shrugged nonchalantly, his face was a smooth mask and only his eyes gave away his churning emotions. "I still have my morals. But I must admit that I have no remorse for eliminating people like you."

It was the Australian who responded to Alex's statement, all the while, keeping his hold on the terrified speaker. "I guess we should expect no less from the brainchild of MI6 and the secret weapon of the British government."

Alex looked him right in the eye as he spoke. "You're right, you shouldn't." And with that statement, Alex pulled out his gun before anyone could realize what was happening and shot the Australian twice in the head. He quickly turned the gun on the Scorpia agent who had begun to retaliate and pulled the trigger, squeezing off the rest the rounds into the man's chest.

The two men fell to the ground and the guest speaker immediately retreated to the far end of the stage and out of harms way.

Alex tossed his gun to the side and quickly went on the defensive as Dr. Three attacked him with a flurry of punches, aiming for the weakest spots on the human body in an attempt to incapacitate the spy before the fight could escalate. Alex deflected them with ease though and Three stumbled back form the force of Alex's blocks. The two circled each other, regaining their breath as they readied themselves for the next attack. The battle, which was as much of wills as it was strength, was far more personal one than it had been with the Australian due to Three's involvement in Alex's training.

Alex moved into an offensive crouch and spoke again. His voice was rough, but as cold as ice. "You once said that killing was just a matter of finding the right target," he spat, "It looks as if I have found mine."

A malicious smile spread across Dr. Three's face and a soft, dangerous chuckle slipped from his lips. "Even if I die today, Scorpia will still reap its revenge, Alex Rider," he replied softly, "And when that day comes, you will wish that you had never dared to cross our path."

Alex chuckled darkly in response to the Asian's threats, and let a confident smirk cross his face to hide the apprehension that the terrorist's words made him feel. The emotion didn't reach his eyes though, and for a moment a bone deep weariness could be seen in them. "That may be," he said, "But it's not today." He watched as the Asian man pulled out a knife and responded in turn by unsheathing his only remaining weapon from his calf. The two of them focused their attention back on the physical conflict now that the exchange of threats had come to an end. After a moment, Alex attacked but Three was agile and dodged the blow. The two clashed and the rasp of steel on steel filled the space around them as they attacked and parried until Three finally slipped through Alex's defenses and drove this knife into Alex's already wounded shoulder. Alex let out a grunt of pain as he pushed Three away and ripped out the knife out of the wound. He twirled both blades agilely in his hands as retaliated with a sidekick that caught the terrorist square in the chest, causing him to stumble back several steps and fall to the ground. Alex walked slowly across the stage and hovered over Three for a moment as the Asian man slowly rose to his feet, unsteady after the force of Alex's blows.

"I would have expected more from the world's leading expert on torture," Alex stated in a soft voice as he drove the blades simultaneously into the Asian man; one to the chest and the other to the femoral artery on the inside of his left thigh.

Three teetered for a moment before he crumpled to the ground, one of his bloody hands twitching feebly as if he were trying to gather the strength to remove the blade that protruded from his chest and the Asian man's last breath rattled past his parted lips as he lay in a swiftly growing pool of his own blood. Alex stood over his enemy, his chest heaving as he slowly backed himself down out of fight mode, wishing desperately that there had been no reason for his bitter victory.

**I know, I know the auditorium scene has been done plenty of times, but I've always liked it. **

**I wasn't originally planning on stopping here, but I had to cut the original chapter in half. 10,000+ words is just too much all at once.**

**If, like me, you're interested in that kind of stuff, you should go look at some pictures of Alex's combat knives (They're Steel Eagle TP107C's). It's a really cool, really deadly looking combat knife and one of the ones that's most preferred by real life covert and tactical operatives.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	3. Part II: Aftermath

**Wow. I'm blown away by the response I got on the last chapter and I'm glad you all are enjoying it. Thank you all for reading and reviewing!**

**Personally, all I can think right now is "God, what are they all going to do when I start throwing in the plot twists?" but we'll get to that when it comes. **

**And here's the other half of the once ridiculously long chapter. Be ready for an aggravated, post-fight Alex. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough said.**

Part II: Aftermath

Alex leapt off the stage and ran swiftly towards Tyler's prone form in the silence that permeated the air in the aftermath of the fight, Three's threat already pushed to the back of his mind. He pulled out his cell phone as he ran and hit the hot key that provided him with a direct link to MI6 and was immediately patched through to the crack team, which was about five minutes out. _Just too late to really be helpful_, Alex thought with a thick edge of anger.

The rest of the people in the auditorium were just beginning to catch up with what was going on. Slowly, the room came to life. The screaming and crying became louder and the mass hysteria and panic grew. Most of the teachers were still in too much shock to be of any help.

Alex reached Tyler and immediately began working to save his life. He had already wasted precious time eliminating all of the Scorpia operatives before he attended to his injured classmate. He wasn't willing to let Tyler die from the dangers that his presence had brought upon the school, regardless of the teen's own fault in his critical condition. Eventually the school nurse came over to offer her assistance but Alex other ideas. "Find the others with more minor injuries or who are going into shock," he ordered. "Help them. Notify me of any more serious injuries and I'll get to them when I've stabilized Tyler."

"But Alex-"

Alex was quick to cut her off. "I'm a SAS trained field medic. I'm trained to treat these kinds of injuries. We can make the most of our combined medical knowledge if you take on the other cases that are less life threatening." he stated rather sharply, and the nurse decided against arguing any further. Most of the people in the auditorium had heard his outburst and immediately quieted down. They were all scared and Alex seemed to be exuding the greatest amount of authority, so they followed him even if he was one of the things that they were most afraid of.

Nearly all of the people in the room were shooting him frequent, wary glances. His violent display of martial prowess had been frightening to say the least. Alex ignored the people around him as he got on his knees and began to work feverishly over Tyler's barely conscious form. He had put his phone on speaker so he could work on Tyler and speak to his team at the same time. Soon, a familiar voice came over the line.

"Cub, ETA three minutes. Status report," growled Wolf, the leader of K-Unit.

Alex rattled off the facts as quickly as possible as he removed his shirt and began ripping it into strips. "Threat neutralized. One in critical condition— gunshot to the arm, multiple broken ribs, possible internal bleeding and head trauma," he listed as he tied one of the strips tightly on Tyler's arm just above where the bullet had pierced it to create a tourniquet. "Likely more injured. Civilian casualties unknown. Personal status…well, I've been a lot worse. Stab wound to the shoulder, close call on the throat, several deflected shots and a couple of grazes. I'm sore and tired; taking out 22 assassins will do that though. Is it just K?" he asked.

"No, D-Unit's here too."

Alex nodded to himself before he answered. "Well hurry up, Snake and Tiger have their work cut out for them. I hope you have a couple of ambulances."

"That's why it took us so long."

"Great," Alex muttered before reigned in his anger and continued with his report. "Enemy has unknown number of casualties, though I'm guessing quite high. Anyone who's not dead is knocked out cold…" Alex's voice trailed off, his thoughts were becoming slightly fuzzy and his movements heavy. He shook his head trying to clear it but he knew almost immediately that something was wrong. He caught sight of the hilt of Three's knife protruding from the man's motionless body as his head turned and the answer immediately struck him. Three's knife had been poisoned and it was only the adrenalin that was slowly draining out of his system that had kept the toxin from taking immediate effect. Now the Asian man's relatively easy defeat made more sense.

"Cub?" came a worried voice over the speaker but Alex ignored it. He stopped working on Tyler and put one hand on the floor to steady himself and pressed on the area over his rapidly beating heart with the other. His voice was strained when he managed to speak again.

"Tom," he called, and his best friend immediately rushed over to him. "Get my bag," he ordered, his voice quickly becoming weaker and more strained as his breathing became labored. His heart raced frantically and his sight became fuzzy, the world around him taking on a greenish yellow tinge. He slowly sat back and leaned weakly against the row of seats behind him. He heard a voice over the connection again but this time it wasn't Wolf.

"What's going on, Cub?" Snake asked in a professional voice.

"Digitalis (1)," Alex answered shortly, recognizing the symptoms of the poison as Tom returned. He heard Snake swear and tell the other men to hurry up but focused his wavering attention on Tom as he pulled off the sheath that was slung over his shoulders and his bulletproof shirt with shaky hands. He was fading fast. "Take out the kit from the bottom of the bag," he ordered and Tom complied. When he had retrieved the kit Alex held out his hand and continued. It was now taking all of his self will to hold on. "Blue…Blue combi-pen…defibrillator," he muttered out disjointedly, his chest heaving from the exertion that it took to keep himself conscious.

Alex felt Tom place the combi-pen in his fumbling hand and painfully ripped off the cap with his teeth before ramming it into his jugular, ignoring the stab of pain in his poison induced haze. He grabbed the leads of the defibrillator that Tom held out to him and attached them to his chest and waited as the machine charged. He could feel his heart beating wildly out of control and blearily noticed the blackness that was creeping into his vision and he knew that he would soon go into cardiac arrest if he didn't shock his heart. The machine finished charging and Alex hit the button, gasping as an electrical pulse went through his chest. His heart rate flat lined for a moment before it returned to normal and Alex slumped back, breathing heavily as his sweat dripped off of him. After a few moments he was able to get back up and rip the leads off of his chest. He immediately returned to working over Tyler, ignoring that his hands were still shaking due to the toxin's lingering effects. He knew that he didn't have the time to stop if he was going to save Tyler. "I'm still here," he gasped as the doors of the auditorium burst open and the two SAS units rushed in. Snake and Tiger rushed over to him followed by several EMTs with gurneys. Tiger immediately took over stabilizing Tyler while Snake went straight to Alex.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Alex grunted in response. "We can worry about me later," he answered as he finally managed to regulate his breathing. "Others need the medical attention more than I do."

"Cub, you were just poisoned, you should go get checked out."

"I'm not going to the hospital Snake!" Alex shot back rather sharply. "This is hardly the worst I've been through and I've already had the antidote. You can check me out later but there are a lot of other people here who are in worse shape than I am." He turned and hurried as fast as his abused body would let him towards a knot of students who were huddling over a body before Snake could answer him.

The other students parted as he approached and a fifteen-year-old girl, Allison Nordstrom, came into view. She was slumped over unconscious in her chair with a bullet lodged in her thigh. Blood was pooling rapidly on the floor underneath her body as it drained from the open wound. Alex reacted immediately, calling for a gurney and using what was left of his shirt to create another tourniquet for her leg. He then pressed the remaining scraps of cloth on the wound to apply pressure and slow the bleeding. An EMT soon arrived with a gurney and the girl was gently lifted onto it and rolled away.

Alex sighed and continued examining his teachers and classmates for injuries, using his medical knowledge where needed. While He, Tiger, Snake, and the EMTs worked over the injured, the rest of the crack team went to work on taking care of the intruders. The men who were only knocked unconscious were bound and carried off to a military van to be transported to the interrogation rooms in the basement of the Royal and General, while the bodies of the dead were unceremoniously heaped into a different van and driven away for cremation.

When the last of the injured had been bundled up and driven away, Alex stood up from where he had been crouching down and packing up medical supplies and surveyed the damage as he retrieved his scattered equipment. Blood was smeared and spattered around the large room, gathering in pools where people who had been shot had fallen. Some of the chairs and other structural pieces of the room had been destroyed by the sheer physicality of the fight. The students and teachers were, for the most part, still sitting in their seats. Many of them were still too shaken to move or speak. Others cried silently or held on to one another as they sobbed quietly— the screaming had stopped after the arrival of the SAS. Alex averted his eyes from the many stares that he knew he was receiving from the teachers and students— as well as the remaining EMTs. He knew what they were staring at— it wasn't just his actions that had their attention any more. Alex frowned as his eyes swept the room again. This something he never wanted to see happen to his school. He was broken out of his revere from a voice behind him.

"Cub," Snake called, "It's your turn."

Alex sighed but complied. He knew better than to cross his adoptive unit's medic on these sorts of issues. He was reluctant to talk to him though because he knew that he, like the rest of the people in the auditorium had seen the heavy scarring that littered his chest and back- scars that he had put an enormous amount of effort into hiding. With this in mind, he scooped up his discarded bulletproof tee before he walked over to the unit medic.

Snake handed him a wet cloth and Alex set his shirt and weapons on the ground at his feet and used the towel to wipe the blood off of his face and hands. Snake cleaned the knife wound on his shoulder thoroughly to make sure that all traces of the digitalis had been removed before he stitched the wound closed. Alex stayed still throughout the entire procedure, not even registering the pain of the needle repeatedly piercing his skin. He refused the pain medication that the medic offered and once again held still as Snake moved to attend to several grazes, cleaning the wounds and wrapping them tightly in gauze before moving on to some of the nastier cuts that littered his face.

There was quiet for a moment before Snake broke the ice. "So," he said, his voice carrying through the space and capturing the attention of the entire auditorium— which for the most part was staring at them any way. "Are you going to tell me how you got all of those scars?"

By this time EMTs and the other SAS men were listening into the conversation. He knew that they were curious and he had seen the shocked and worried frowns on the faces of the other men in his unit.

"No," Alex replied bluntly.

Disapproval colored Snake's tone as he replied. "Cub, as your unit medic I need to be informed of these kinds of injuries. And these are horrific. What happened?"

Alex knew that the man already had a hunch, but he wasn't going to help him get there. He did not want to have this conversation, especially in their present company. "It's a hard line of work Snake— the scars come with it," he said tersely. "I've already outlived my life expectancy."

There was a rustle of movement and quiet murmurs broke out through the auditorium in response to Alex's statement, but everyone fell silent as Snake spoke again. "That's bullshit, Cub,"' he growled, as he finished stitching a particularly nasty cut just above the teenage spy's left eyebrow and Alex knew that the man was getting frustrated with his refusal to cooperate. "I've been in the SAS for years and I've never come across someone with injuries as bad as these. I've been _interrogated _and received less. This is different. It's bloody obvious that someone tortured you for information— and when the hell did you get shot?"

Alex sighed, his aggravation clear in his tone. He knew that he was fighting a losing battle by refusing to talk. His chest was covered with scars from where he had had a knife dragged across his skin and burns from where he had been repeatedly electrocuted. His back was in even worse condition, layered over with ropy whip scars. The most horrific injury was the brand on his right shoulder in the shape of a scorpion. It didn't help his case that he was covered in fresh cuts and bruises not to mention the several dark purple splotches that were scattered over his chest and back where his bulletproof shirt had stopped a handful of direct hits and the slightly less dark bruises that were evidence of the physicality of the fight.

Wolf's eyes hardened at Snake's last statement. Despite the fact that it had happened three years previously, Alex had never told his unit about the injury and they had been too distracted by the severity of his other scars to notice immediately. "Tortured? Shot?!" Wolf growled, pushing through the crowd of surrounding soldiers and medical personnel towards the two of them while Eagle and Bear (Fox's replacement) followed slowly behind. "_Where_?"

"The heart," Snake answered grimly when Alex did not reply. Whispers broke out around the room like hissing fires.

"Three centimeters _above_ the heart actually," Alex interjected boredly.

"_When_," Wolf growled dangerously, and Alex knew better than to stay quiet.

"Three years ago."

Wolf's jaw clenched and his eyes burned with fury. There was a loaded moment of silence before Wolf's control broke. "Three _years_ ago, and you didn't tell us? Bloody hell Cub, you basically get shot in the heart and you don't tell us! That made you what? _Fourteen_? Who the hell shot you any way?"

"The same people who decided to make an appearance here today," Alex answered shortly, annoyed by his unit's line of questioning and entirely unphased by Wolf's rant.

Alex's answer threw the older man for a momentary loop before the puzzle pieces clicked into place and his eyes lit up in realization. "Wait, you mean that you have been at the top of Scorpia's hit list since the age of _fourteen_— that's _three years_ now— and your still _alive_?!"

"I'm difficult to kill."

"What the bloody hell did you do to piss them off so badly?"

Alex shot Wolf a disapproving stare before he answered. "Do you really think I'm going to tell you that?" he asked coldly.

Wolf seemed to be stunned into silence by Alex's outright refusal to talk, though he knew better to throw questions at him with so many civilian witnesses present. Alex used the moment to slip his shirt back on and slide his weapons back into place. He could feel the awe in the eyes of his classmates but there was something more in the eyes of his comrades. As one of MI6's top agents, Alex already held a high level of respect among the people who knew of him. But his involvement with Scorpia had earned him a new level of esteem— that was one of the reasons why he never mentioned it; he didn't do his job for the glory and he didn't want reminders of what had happened.

Finally, Snake spoke up. "I'm assuming that they were the people who tortured you."

Alex nodded silently; looking Snake straight in the eye so only the medic saw the flicker of pain deep in his eyes— the only indication of emotion on his stoic face.

"What did they want?"

"Classified," Alex answered tersely.

"Wait, so they just hand you highly classified state secrets?" Eagle cut in. Alex was a little surprised that the man hadn't interjected earlier.

"I _am_ a highly classified state secret and I deal with some of the most sensitive cases on a regular basis, _ergo_, I end up picking up a lot of sensitive information," Alex ground out. He was becoming increasingly aggravated by his unit's intrusive questioning.

"How long did they torture you for?" asked Snake, cutting off Eagle's rebuttal.

"Two months."

"Shit," Wolf replied brilliantly.

"Did you say anything?" asked Eagle.

"If I had, then we'd all be dead."

Wolf was about to say something when static cracked over the comm. link in Alex's watch and the teen spy turned to it in relief as Mrs. Jones' voice issued from the speaker.

"Rider, Agent Daniels is en route with the OSA to debrief the witnesses. More will be disclosed on arrival."

"Ten-four," Alex replied calmly before returning his attention to the others. "Lets get these people into the cafeteria," he said before the soldiers could ask any more uncomfortable questions. The others nodded and Alex raised his voice to address the room. "Okay," he said, "We need you all to proceed to the cafeteria where we will discuss what happens now."

They followed his orders numbly, still too shaken by what had taken place. D-Unit led the way out of the auditorium while K-Unit brought up the rear. Alex pulled Mr. Bray and the guest speaker aside as they were about to exit the auditorium and the three of them trailed behind the SAS soldiers, each of them reluctant to talk. Eventually Alex broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," He said quietly, the sincerity in evident in his voice. "This was never meant to happen. There's obviously been a serious breach of security surrounding the school if twenty-two armed men were able to storm into the building, especially so soon after our discussion. I will definitely be speaking to my superiors about this."

Mr. Bray nodded numbly. He wasn't quite sure what to say after watching his student maim or kill over twenty armed men in front of the rest of the student body.

Alex continued before the headmaster could speak. "I suppose that you are well within your rights of expelling me after what happened back there. My presence in this school is a danger to the other students." He sighed. As always, he was calm and collected on the surface but inside he was drowning in a whirlwind of emotions. He had done everything he could to remain in school only to be put in a situation that would almost certainly lead to his expulsion.

Mr. Bray looked Alex in surprise but he understood where the young man was coming from. "I'm not going to expel you, Alex," he said quietly. "I think most of us are still to shocked right now for the reality to sink in. None of us would have known what to do if you weren't there."

"You wouldn't have been in that position if I wasn't there." The teenage spy sighed. He turned towards the guest speaker who had been silent since the incident on the stage. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

The man nodded and cleared his throat. "Just severely shaken," he said quietly. "Not to mention surprised. I was sure they were there for me when they stormed in and I hardly expected to _not_ be the most high profile person in the room."

Alex laughed humorlessly. "That's because I'm only high profile in the criminal underworld. The rest of the world isn't supposed to know I exist." By this time they had reached the cafeteria and they stopped outside the doors to continue talking. "I hope that today's events haven't deterred you from aiding the school. The financial situation hasn't been great since the science building caught fire."

"Of course," the man answered. "It seems that my old school needs me now more than ever."

Alex nodded and the man stepped into the cafeteria leaving Alex and Mr. Bray by themselves. Alex began to outline some of the steps that should be taken in the aftermath of the attack. "Agent Daniels is coming over with copies of the Official Secrets Act for every one to sign. No one can leave until his or her name hits the paper and we have gone over the public story. We can't release the truth to the media without compromising my identity. School should probably be canceled for the rest of the week to give everyone time to recover. I'll talk to MI6 about providing psychologists with the appropriate security clearance to those who want them. They all just watched me maim or kill twenty-two people— It's bound to have an effect. We can give the basics out today but we will need to set up an assembly for next Monday. The whole truth is going to have to come out and we don't have time for that today. Parents are going to be to anxious to get their kids home safe."

The principal nodded in acquiescence before he asked one of the questions that had been burning in the back of his mind. "Do you think that there is likely to be a repeat of the situation?"

"No," Alex said. "I've just dealt them a huge humiliation. I don't think that they will attempt something so…_transparent_, again."

There was a pause as the principal worked up the courage to ask his next question. "Do you feel anything…for killing those men I mean?"

Alex paused a moment to consider the question. He sighed heavily, brushing the hair out of his eyes before he answered. "That's a tough question," he said. "As a general rule, I detest taking a life. Killing more than anything has a way of destroying what little soul you have in this business. But those men…no, I don't feel any remorse. They represent the worst of mankind, and they have played a very large role in the destruction of my life."

Mr. Bray nodded and the two of them fell silent. Daniels arrived soon after and the three of them entered the cafeteria once he had been filled in on the plans that had been decided upon. The room, which had been filled with the buzz of quiet conversations, fell silent as they entered. Every face turned to stare at Alex as he walked with the two other men towards the front of the room where the two SAS units were waiting.

Daniels nodded to his former unit members in greeting before he turned to address the crowd of teachers and students, explaining the importance of secrecy.

***

The following Monday the school gathered in the auditorium. The mood was somber and the repairs that had been started in the past week served as a reminder to the events that happened there. The injured students had been released from the hospital, their various bandages and casts adding to the reminders of the previous week's horrific events. Many of the students were just beginning process the enormity of what had happened and it was clear that many were experiencing some level of discomfort from being in the same position as they had been only a week ago.

Every witness had signed the Official Secrets Act before leaving the school grounds and the official press story had been released shortly after the incident. The basic importance of keeping the details under wraps had been explained to everyone who had witnessed what had happened in the auditorium but it was obvious that each and every one of them was thirsting for more information, and that was why the entire school had put aside their discomfort and filed into a room that was still haunted by the memories of death, terror, and violence.

Alex watched his teachers and classmates file into the auditorium from his position on the stage. The podium still stood front and center but two rows of chairs had been set up behind and to the right of it. Alex sat in one of the chairs in the first row, his face expressionless, wearing his standard combat trousers and tee shirt. Mrs. Jones sat to his right, sucking on her usual continuous supply of peppermints while Ben Daniels sat on his left. Several other low-grade MI6 officials were present including John Crawley, who had been in charge of dealing with the press. A representative from MI5 was also present since the attack took place on home soil and technically under their jurisdiction. Mr. Bray and the other school administrators sat quietly in the second row.

When everyone had settled down, Mrs. Jones stood and approached the podium. The low whispers that had filled the auditorium died away and the attention of every person in the room focused on Alan Blunt's second in command as she took her place behind it.

Mrs. Jones cleared her throat before she began speaking. "Good afternoon, for those of you who do not know, my name is Tulip Jones and I am the deputy head of the Special Operations division of MI6. I am here today to discuss the events that took place here last Monday. As you all know, twenty-two armed men with the intent to kill infiltrated the school at approximately 1300 hours during an assembly. These men consisted of twenty highly trained assassins and two executive board members from the world wide criminal organization known to the intelligence community as Scorpia."

Whispers began broke out among the student body as the organization that that intruders were tied to was announced. The majority of them had heard of the crime syndicate from the news when it was reported that the organization had claimed responsibility for an attack or disaster and they were scared by the fact that such a powerful terrorist group had attacked their school.

Mrs. Jones plowed on, ignoring the effect that her words were having on her listeners. "Scorpia— or as it stands for, Sabotage, Corruption, Intelligence, and Assassination— is the world's largest criminal organization. It was formed shortly after the end of the Cold War and has led the world in terror ever since. In the past decades the organization has been the driving force behind everything from civil wars and government coups to drug and human trafficking and assassinations, catering to anyone who can afford their services. Last Monday's attack was a direct act of revenge against one of MI6's operatives: Special Agent Alex Rider, who has on several occasions succeeded in bringing down the organization's high-profile operations and causing them severe humiliation."

Alex felt the collective attention of his peers shift from Mrs. Jones to himself as the deputy head of Special Operations confirmed his occupation and sighed quietly to himself as the whispers broke out again with a renewed intensity. He kept his focus solely on Mrs. Jones, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, as the woman revealed the secret that he had played close to his chest for so long.

"Agent Rider began working with us at the age of fourteen shortly after the death of his uncle and quickly became one our most successful operatives with a staggering 100% success rate after three years of service," Jones continued. "He has been the agent on point for many of the most delicate and high profile cases of the twenty-first century. At fourteen, he became the youngest person to enter the space environment and became the second of only two operatives to successfully infiltrate and debilitate Scorpia since the organization's founding. He has worked in partnership with intelligence agencies around the globe and has become a key factor in this nation's policy in the intelligence and international communities. I will now step down and let Agent Rider speak a few words."

Alex kept his face emotionless as he approached the podium. He didn't exactly like having his achievements revealed to his classmates— he did what he did because he was in a position to do it and because it was the right thing to do, not because he wanted the glory— but there was no getting around the situation now. He would just need to make sure that they understood a few key points.

Alex gazed out at his classmate as he began speaking. "As Mrs. Jones has explained, I began working for MI6 Special Ops three years ago and have since split my time between school and time out on assignment. You all know that after the death of my uncle my absences became frequent and erratic and each one was covered by a doctor's note or some other excuse. I'm sure you have realized by now that for each of those absences there is a corresponding assignment. Now, as far as I'm concerned, that's all you need to know about my career. Espionage is not a game, and I will not treat it as such by broadcasting my history and accomplishments to this student body. I'll say it now, and I won't say it again: do not push me for details. Most things in my world are better left unsaid."

The disappointed expressions of his classmates were easy to interpret as Alex looked out at them from the podium. it was obvious that they had hoped that Alex would give them a "Cliff Notes" version of what he had done over his three year career and that he would go on to give them a glorified interpretation of the life of a covert operative.

Alex sighed internally; these people wanted James Bond, not reality, but it was his job to make sure that they knew this was not a light matter. "Last Monday's attack by Scorpia, as was stated earlier, was an act of revenge. The organization does not forgive, and does not forget, so as you can imagine, I've been at the top of their hit list for quite a long time. Despite this, I can reassure you that Scorpia will not be looking to stage an attack at Brookland again. Scorpia has a reputation for training the world's most skilled assassins and the fact that I was able to defeat twenty of them and two of the organization's executive board members in such a transparent attack is a humiliation that they will not look to repeat. The security failures that allowed the attack to happen in the first place have been investigated and new measures have been put in place. You can rest assured that you will be safe here."

At this point, Alex turned to shoot a look at Mrs. Jones the at clearly said 'or else.'

He took a deep breath before he continued speaking. "You all signed the Official Secrets Act before you left the building last Monday but I cannot impress upon you enough the importance of keeping all that has been said and done both today and last Monday secret. A spy isn't worth much if their identity is public knowledge and I'm sure that MI6 would not take too kindly to any of you exposing the identity of one of their most valued operatives. If you decide not to heed the warnings, you do not only run the risk of put my life in danger, but you also put your life and the lives of the people close to you in danger and government retribution will be swift. These secrets are lethal. If people in the criminal underworld find out that you have talked, then you can kiss your life good-bye. And they will find out. So the solution is simple really— keep your mouths shut, for everyone's sake."

Alex stepped down from the podium as Mrs. Jones stood to take his place offer some closing remarks. He felt somewhat drained as he stared unseeingly out at the crowd. He knew that he had been harsh, but it was necessary if he ever wanted to get his point across. He felt more separate from his classmates than ever before and he knew that the entire dynamic of his school life was about to change. It was not a change that he was looking forward to. School had long ago taken on the role of a haven, despite the ostracism that he was constantly subjected to while there. He had come to see it almost as a vacation from his job, a time when he could blend in and at least pretend to be a normal teenager— it made him feel anonymous.

With the recent attack on the school, any chance of retaining that anonymity went down the drain.

Alex looked out into the crowd of students who now stared at him with something in their gazes akin to hero worship and awe. He spotted the familiar faces of the people who had once been some of his closest friends dotted among them- friends who just the previous week had witnessed him wound or kill twenty-two people without hesitation or remorse. Alex felt as if he had become trapped for a moment in their collective gazes, before he turned away in regret.

The last barrier between his government and home lives had been broken in the most violent way possible and he sure as hell wasn't happy about it.

**You may or may not have noticed, but the scene with the digitalis is definitely has roots in Casino Royal (you know when Bond drinks that poisoned martini and somehow manages to stumble out to his car before he goes into cardiac arrest and Vesper has to save him?). I hope they keep Daniel Craig around for a while because he is by far my favorite: grittier and more violent, less suave but still a womanizer. The last few movies finally got rid of the slight campiness that irritated me so much in the earlier films.**

**But I digress.**

**(1) Digitoxin Toxicity: Symptoms include fatigue, nausea/vomiting, changes in heart rate and rhythm, visual disturbances (yellow or green halos around objects), confusion, dizziness, and agitation, as well as a higher acute sense of sensual activities. Adrenalin is not a cure, but would have stopped the poison from taking immediate effect. The combi-pen would have contained DigiFab, an antidote harvested from sheep who have been inoculated with a digitoxin derivative. **

**So now the whole school knows Alex's big secret and he's definitely not happy about it. At the same time it's opened up some opportunities for him when it comes to reconnecting with the people who he knows are genuine friends- that is unless something else gets in the way. You'll just have to wait and see how things pan out; there's a lot more action to come.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	4. Part III: Crisis

**Again, thank you all for the reviews!**

**To answer a question asked by anon. reviewer Hardy Boys Fan; UK Special Forces selection (that's for SAS and two other services) is a grueling six month process with a less than 10 percent pass rate. Six of these weeks are spent in the jungles of Borneo, where all recruits are required to complete a medical training regimen. Since the Alex of my imagination completed every phase of SF selection by 16, he would have the knowledge he needs to provide treatment for injuries such as bullet wounds until such a time where more comprehensive medical treatment could be accessed. This is not to say that Alex is an expert medical officer, but he would have been trained to treat of a host of combat related injuries. SF members who choose to become specialized medics undergo an intense period of additional training after passing selection (something that Snake and Tiger would have, but Alex would not). **

**And now onwards with the story. This is yet another chapter that I had to chop in half due to excessive length.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough Said. **

Part III: Crisis

The students and faculty of Brookland Comprehensive slowly returned to a normal routine in the days following the attack on the school and leading up to the end of term. The auditorium had been repaired and the bloodstains removed, leaving no evidence of the violence that had taken place there, and classes continued as if they had never been interrupted. The greatest difference was that after years of fading into the background, having become the standard fall back fodder for the rumor mill, Alex was once again in the spotlight of his peers. The whispers that constantly surrounded him were fueled with a new fervor as he suddenly became both the most admired and the most feared person at school. Plenty of students wisely kept their distance, watching with awe from afar, too intimidated to approach him. Alex found the quiet admiration and hero worship irritating, but it was still preferable to the reaction of the majority of the student body.

Alex had gone from being the school pariah to its most sought after friend overnight. He could no longer walk through the halls without being accosted by other students— especially those who were considered to be at the top of the social hierarchy— who were desperate to be friends with him since he was now, by default, the most popular person in school. He had coldly rebuffed nearly all of the offers and invitations that were extended to him, knowing that they were in no way genuine and that those trying the hardest to buy his friendship were the ones that had been the most involved with the vicious rumors that had surrounded him. It was evident that all they wanted were the bragging rights and instant popularity that came with being his "friend."

While he continued to ignore the majority of the student body, Alex returned to amiable terms with a select few of his peers who he knew had refrained from the rumor mill and whose offers of friendship were genuine. They were either people who had been close friends with before MI6 and had drifted apart from them due to the huge number of secrets he had to keep, or those who had been to wary of coming into a situation that was clearly not their business to extend their offers of friendship before his secrets had come out. But even though he had cordially accepted their offers of friendship, Alex remained relatively distanced to those who he had accepted back. The truth was that after so many years with only Tom by his side he didn't really need the friendship of others and he continued to keep them at arms length through force of habit.

Among those who he had begun to allow back into his life were his co-captain on the football team, Brent Ames and his girlfriend Katie Windsor. Both were intelligent individuals that had refused to put stock into the many rumors that had circulated throughout the school due to a lingering sense of loyalty. Both of them had been close friends before Alex's secrets had pushed them away. Alex had been taking karate classes with Katie since they were six years old and had been playing soccer with Brent for just as long.

Despite his obvious avoidance of the popularity that had been thrust upon him, many students continued to attempt to buy his friendship with blatant flattery and invitations to parties and other social functions. Alex found that their efforts were grating on his nerves more and more every day.

Three weeks after the incident, Alex sat with Tom in their usual secluded corner of the crowded lunchroom. He was reveling in the prospect of some time alone, away from his irritating and over-curious classmates, when a lunch tray was dropped onto the table with a resounding clatter and Tyler Proft squeezed himself into the non-existent seat between Alex and Tom.

"Alex, my man!" he exclaimed as if the two of them were the best of friends, slapping Alex on the back and causing the teen spy to grit his teeth in irritation and acute restraint. Tyler began talking without giving either Alex of Tom the chance to get a word in edgewise, ignoring the annoyance that was building quickly in both boys.

"So," the teen said cockily, as if there was no way Alex would refuse him, "I was thinking that us heroic types needed to stick together. I mean, we've both taken bullets to defend the school, I figure that that should equate to some type of entitlement. I mean it's like the rest of the school should be thanking us for saving them! Could you imagine what would have happened if I wasn't there to stand up to that crazy guy?"

Tyler continued his arrogant rant, unaware of the effect that his insensitive words were having on the two friends. Tom was glaring at the blond haired rugby captain as if he could incinerate him with his stare alone and Alex could feel his own blood beginning to boil over while Tyler trivialized something that Alex took seriously with his egocentric ramblings.

"… And chicks totally dig the scars," Tyler continued, still unaware of the growing tension at the lunch table, "Seriously, man, its like getting shot is all you need to do to make the ladies come in droves—"

Alex, quite suddenly, had had enough. "You're a bloody imbecile," he spat, his voice laced with ice-cold rage. His was voice raised just enough in his anger to capture the attention of the majority of the lunch room, which immediately went silent as everyone's attention focused on the table in the far corner.

The insult finally cut through Tyler's rant and the teen stopped midsentence, flabbergasted by Alex's bluntness. "Excuse me?" he asked, clearly affronted.

"You heard me," Alex spat. "Do you think this is some kind of joke? Things like bullet wounds are serious business, not an easy way to get laid. Do you seriously think that getting shot automatically makes you a hero? That scar on your arm is nothing more than a mark of your own stupidity! If you hadn't been so obsessed with playing the hero when you're so obviously out of your depth, you wouldn't have the mark on your arm to show for it. You're not the only one who got hit that day, Tyler, you were just the only one stupid enough to make yourself a target."

Tyler sat frozen for a moment, his mouth open and shut several times, imitating a goldfish as he floundered for something to say, but Alex never gave him the chance.

"I'm not interested in what you have to offer," he said coldly. "Do you really think I don't know that you're responsible for half the ridiculous rumors about me that have been spread around this school? Stop bothering me, Tyler, if you know what's good for you."

It was another moment before Tyler recovered from the shock of Alex's rebuff and stood up from the table, shuffling away in fear and humiliation. The noise level of the lunchroom slowly returned to normal as the students got over the shock of Alex's atypical outburst and went back to their conversations.

***

Four months after Scorpia's attack on the school the students and teachers of Brookland Comprehensive returned for the start of the fall term. Alex was glad that the stir that had been caused by the previous spring's attack and the subsequent revelations had finally settled down over the summer recess. He continued to keep his distance from all but a select few of his classmates and, in turn, the majority of them had finally taken the hint and left him alone, leaving him free to focus on school and the football team in peace.

Alex had split his summer between topping off on his jungle survival training with the newest SAS recruits in the rainforests of Borneo and a six week assignment in the Balkans where he had been undermining a rebel paramilitary organization, which had been set in pulling off a government coup that would have brought a level of instability to the region that had not been seen since the end of the Bosnian Genocide. The assignment had gone smoothly, and in the absence of any major hang ups. Alex had reveled in the chance to complete a case using traditional espionage techniques, rather than his own arsenal of decidedly suicidal tactics. He had returned to England the day before the start of term was due to start in perfect condition, for once not needing any sort of post assignment medical attention.

The peace was shattered quite abruptly on a Thursday morning in the middle of October as Alex sat in Mr. Donovan's maths classroom, taking unnecessary notes on autopilot as he listened to a calculus lecture on the rules of integration: material that that he had mastered the year before on his own time.

From his position near the window, Alex heard the sound of two cars speeding down the quiet street and stop rather abruptly in front of the school. One quick glance out the window confirmed his suspicions that it was two trucks of men from the British military. He watched as one of the men hopped out of the first truck and began running up towards the school and immediately immediately went on alert.

Several minutes later the soldier quietly slipped through the door of the maths room and quickly made his way to Alex's desk. He leaned over and murmured quietly in Alex's ear as the entire room went silent in order to watch the exchange.

"The Prime Minister has declared a state of emergency. Your presence has been requested at a meeting of COBRA."

Alex didn't bother collecting his things, knowing that whatever the emergency was, it was big. MI6 had never before called him in while he was at school without some attempt at subterfuge and the mention of COBRA set off alarm bells in his head. The soldier stepped back and Alex immediately shot out of his seat and the two of them rushed out the door, leaving the class in a state of confusion behind them.

The spy and the soldier broke into run once they reached the deserted hallway. Alex took the stairs two at a time and he and the soldier sprinted the last section of hallway before bursting through the doors and making their way across the parking lot. Alex threw himself into the driver's seat of his Aston Martin and gunned the engine, pulling out between the two Hum-vees of his military escort.

The escort quickly made its way to the end of Downing Street where Alex furiously parked the car and made his way to the gate. He flashed his ID to the guard and hurried through the gate, leaving his escort behind. He ran the last stretch of the road to 10 Downing Street, only slowing down to a swift walk as he entered the building that housed the Prime Ministers office. He moved quickly and quietly through the halls, letting his memory guide him until he reached the cabinet room where meetings of COBRA were held.

Alex paused outside the door to hand his weapons over to the stunned security guard standing sentry outside the room: no one was allowed to enter the cabinet room while armed. He didn't bother to knock before he slipped into the room and he was immediately hit by the tense emotional climate as he surveyed the people who were already congregated around the large oval conference table. The entire cabinet was present along with many of the Prime Minister's most trusted advisors. The Defense Minister and the top officials in the defense and intelligence sectors including the heads from MI5, the Paras, the Royal Marines, and Special Forces(1) along with MI6 were also present in abundance. Each representative had at least their second-in-command or one other high-ranking official accompanying them and several of the UK's top scientists were also present. In all there were approximately fifty of the nation's most important people gathered together in the room ready to take on the current threat to national security. The projection boards at the front of the room were filled with maps covered in blinking red lights and targets, which were being assessed by various officials before they settled down to start the negotiations.

Alex quickly made his way to the open seat to Blunt's right, ignoring the curious, and in some cases contemptuous, stares of many of the room's occupants, and placed a hand on the spymaster's shoulder to alert him of his presence. Blunt looked up at Alex with his usual serious yet emotionless expression securely on his face and slid a copy of the briefing in front of Alex as the spy dropped gracefully into the open seat. Alex immediately turned his attention to the file, but the threat overview on the cover page made him freeze. He glanced over at Blunt, who nodded minutely in confirmation before he turned back to the briefing.

**SCORPIA/ANWOCS Coup Threatens WWIII: Threat Level Raised to Critical**

_October 21, 2009;_

_2329_(2) _hours GMT SCORPIA stages simultaneous military coups of the Russian and Chinese governments, financed by former KGB director Victor Maksimovich Kuznetsov. Both Coups are Successful and almost entirely seamless, leaving each nation in the hands of an extremist military sector known as ANWOCS (Army for the New World Order of Communist States) by 2:03 a.m. GMT. ANWOCS has pledged loyalty to its parent organization, SCORPIA and Kuznetsov, vowing to topple the Western powers and to unite and expand the former USSR._

_October 22, 2009;_

_0456 hours GMT The Russian and Chinese governments merge to create one new communist state led by Kuznetsov. Mongolia and Kazakhstan are over run in the merger. ANWOCS cells in several other former states of the USSR are activated and stage seamless coups in their own nations and begin to merge with the New USSR._

_0700 hours GMT Kuznetsov announces the creation and intent of the still expanding N-USSR to the leaders of the international community. The joint military goes into standby and Nuclear Missiles in all participating countries are trained on Western strong holds…_

Alex became more and more tense as he continued to read through the briefing, cursing under his breath in each of the fourteen languages that he spoke and wondering how all of the world's intelligence agencies managed to miss a problem of this magnitude until it was too late. He fished a pen out of his pocket and began taking notes in the margins as he quickly read through the document, looking for anything that would help him connect the dots. He became increasingly uneasy as he read further and further into the briefing; he didn't like the conclusions that were beginning to take shape in his mind.

Alex was eventually drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of the Prime Minister clearing his throat and requesting that the meeting begin. He looked up from the file and returned his attention to the group, noticing with exasperation that many of the room's occupants were still eyeing him with skepticism despite the fact there were matters at hand that were infinitely more important than his age.

The Prime Minister cleared his throat again and began to speak the words that would begin the meeting. "I trust you all know that nothing said in this room today is to be repeated to anyone who outside of we who are congregated. This is a very grave and very delicate matter of national security and it would not do well to have the information spread to the general public."

The members of the council nodded and murmured their agreement until one of the newer cabinet members who Alex recognized as Brian Shepard, an interior minister, spoke up.

"What of the boy?" he asked, eyeing Alex suspiciously, "Can he be trusted with matters of such importance?"

Several more senior official's jumped to Alex's defense but Alex cut them off, his icy tone reverberating through the crowded room. "This is not my first meeting of COBRA, Mr. Shepard. You can rest assured that I know the score."

The man's eyes narrowed shrewdly at Alex's response. "The last one was three years ago."

"I'm aware of that," Alex replied, his tone still cold and emotionless. It was at that point that the Prime Minister chose to step in.

"Agent Rider is a member of MI6 Special Operations, Shepard. He is one of the best, if not _the_ best covert operative in the world. His services are invaluable to this government. Agent Rider also happens to be the world's leading expert on the criminal organization Scorpia so his presence here today is of the utmost importance." He paused for a moment to let his words sink in, silently daring anyone to continue the argument. "If that's all cleared up now we can move on to more pressing matters."

***

Several hours into the meeting the Prime Minister, the Minister for Defense, and Alan Blunt had finished each of their reports on the situation, detailing the nuances of what had occurred and what was currently being done to deal with the situation in its opening phase. Alex found himself mildly irritated by all of the talk that seemed to be necessary in politics, especially when time was such an important factor in their plans.

Despite his irritation, he took careful notes on the briefings, adding to what he had already taken from the report. The puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place and the bigger picture was emerging from the general chaos of all of the overlapping events that had taken place in the last 24 hours. Alex cursed under his breath as he began to pick out details that were subtle hints to the finer points of their adversary's plot and the dread in him began to rise.

The talk finally started to shift to negotiating a plan of action and Alex's irritation began to grow exponentially as he listened to the room full of politicians conduct an endlessly circular debate on how the situation should be dealt with. These men were used to sitting in their offices, dictating policy from a comfortable chair. They knew how to talk but rarely followed through with viable action. They most certainly didn't understand how to disentangle the situation from the bureaucratic political mess they lived in. It seemed like the only relief was that everyone at least knew that mobilizing the military against their newest adversaries was the quickest path to mutually assured destruction.

It wasn't until one member of the cabinet suggested unilateral action that Alex finally snapped. "Do you have a death wish?" he asked coldly, cutting through the debate that was going on around him and immediately silencing the room and focusing the rooms attention on himself.

The cabinet member sat frozen for a moment, flabbergasted by Alex's bluntness before he regained his composure and answered the question. "Not particularly, no."

"Then what the _hell _are you doing suggesting unilateral action?" Alex ground out in annoyance.

"Well it is an option," the man defended.

"The hell it's an option! For the people who run this country, you don't really seem to have a good grasp of what you're dealing with! If we go unilateral we'll be a nuclear wasteland by the end of the week!" There were grumbles of disagreement at Alex's statements and he knew it was because most of them didn't believe that the situation was in such dire straights. Alex cut them off before any such thoughts could be put into coherency. "And for those of you who think negotiations are going to cut it, the only good negotiations will be is to act as cover up for what ever active op is put in place. On the one hand you have Kuznetsov and the ANWOCS army who are looking to make up for what they consider to be _decades_ worth of grievances and on the other you have SCORPIA, the world's most powerful terrorist organization whose reputation is directly linked to the success of this operation. They're looking to wipe their slate of all the humiliations I've dealt them in the recent past. I've spent the better part of the last three-and-a-half years picking them apart one operation at a time and successfully dodging their assassins. I know them like I know the back of my own hand. They _don't care_ how many people they kill as long as they get what they are after. They _don't care_ if they're risking their own destruction by default if they start a nuclear war. They won't compromise for anything, and they most certainly won't shy away from jumping the gun and using a couple hundred of the nukes that are now in their possession if we're stupid enough to think we can handle them unilaterally."

Silence followed Alex's assessment of the situation before one of the delegates from MI5 spoke up. "How did Scorpia pull this off anyway? The most recent intelligence dated before the current crisis suggests that the organization was weakening."

Alex nodded curtly before answering. "Scorpia is at its weakest since its founding. Humiliations and failures of major operations in the past three years have drained them of the majority of their credibility and their funding, but even a severely weakened Scorpia is a major threat especially now that they have control of at least half of the world's nuclear weapons stockpiles. At this point, they're getting desperate, they need something that will recover their reputation and do it fast. The sheer complexity and scale of this operation makes it quite clear that it predates the organization's recent decline— it may even go as far back as its founding. To have been in as deep as I have and not have heard a whisper has to mean that this op probably never left the executive room and was kept off record. It's probable that only the leader of each ANWOCS cell knew that the paramilitary had any connection to SCORPIA at all. They've obviously been waiting for the perfect moment to implement this operation and they are going to milk it for all it's worth. If the operation succeeds, the organization puts itself back on the map, if it fails Scorpia breaths its last breath."

"Just how weak are they?"

"That hardly matters. I've been chipping away at them for years and been personally responsible for the deaths of four of their board members, but even at their absolute weakest they are extremely dangerous."

One of the heads of the internal ministry, who had been charged with the task of preparing the public for the imminent threat of nuclear war, spoke up, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Do you think there is any way to hold them up in negotiations? We could use a few months to prepare—"

Alex was quick to cut the man off. "No, minister," he said, "These people don't give a damn about what we have to say. All they want is revenge; and either way, there isn't enough _time_."

"What do you mean, Alex?" the Prime Minister asked warily, catching the way the spy had stressed his last sentence.

Alex sighed and looked down at his notes, circling a figure at the bottom of the page before he looked back up at the others in the room. "Based on everything that's been said here today, we've got two months before Scorpia takes things into their own hands and mobilizes their newly acquired nuclear arsenal. If we can't get in and cause some major problems before then they're going to start dropping bombs regardless of the situation on the ground."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"We have to do this multilaterally and we have to do it quickly. The coups may be going smoothly, but it's too much for them to hope that the people will lie down and let the communists roll back over them. Sure, there are some who want that but for the most part, people have gotten a taste of capitalism and they want to keep it. We all know that China has been struggling with that issue for a while now and it's partially the reason why East Germany collapsed. The transition is going to cause a considerable amount unrest that will work to our advantage, but we still have to move before the military gets a chance to crack down. Where has Kuznetsov set up the new capital?"

"Irkutsk, near Lake Baikal."

"Right in the thick of everything," Alex sighed. "We need to get a multilateral covert ops team placed within the central government to destabilize it from the inside. If it falls apart, the N-USSR will disband without proper leadership and direction if the political will of the people is still there and if the government isn't working smoothly, Scorpia will have too much to deal with to move forward in their plans. The bonds between the nations aren't nearly strong enough to keep it together in the face of major political discord. At the same time, we keep up the veil of diplomacy in order to give the inside group time to start the process of destabilization. In all likelihood a couple of Scorpia executives and a whole host of representatives from other major terrorist groups will be present in Irkutsk since ANWOCS seems to work through the existing terrorist and paramilitary groups in each member state. This works to our advantage since the team can take them out and weaken most of the world's major crime syndicates and terror cells with one strike when the time comes. Also if an international task force makes an attack on Malogosto and a few other strategic targets shortly after the new government crumbles, Scorpia's defenses should be weak enough in all the confusion to bring the organization to its knees." He paused looking over at the Prime Minister. "I would hope that you already have plans to meet with the leaders and heads of intelligence of the major countries that will be on our side?"

The Prime Minister nodded. He opened his mouth to elaborate but was cut off by the shrill sound of the room's only telephone, which was placed right in front of his seat. The room's attention immediately moved from Alex to the phone as everyone waited apprehensively for the news. The prime minister answered it cautiously; afraid of what he was about to hear."Yes?"

There was a pause as the person on the other end spoke and the others watched as the Minister's face darkened. "Send the report, I'll put it on the screen." He hung up the phone and there was silence for a moment as the minister retrieved the files from his computer. "It seems that Scorpia has made another unexpected move," he explained as a photograph appeared on the screen. "A kidnapping." All eyes turned to the screen as an anonymous person asked the most prevalent question.

"Who?"

"A girl, by the name of—"

"Sabina Pleasure." Alex finished, staring at the picture on the screen. Pure unadulterated rage bubbled up inside him and leaked through his usually emotionless demeanor. His hands knotted into tight fists on the tabletop and his jaw was strained in his effort to control his rage. "Eighteen-year-old female born London March 18, 1991. Moved to Los Angeles at 15 after her father narrowly survived an attempted assassination by contract killer Yassen Gregorovich. She was kidnapped and used as leverage by the same man several weeks after the attempt on her father's life. Both acts carried out under the direction of Damian Cray. Five-foot-six, long black hair, green eyes."

"You know this young woman?" the Prime Minister enquired.

"Yes."

"What does this mean?"

"That things just got infinitely more complicated."

**So the plot begins to thicken. Scorpia has unleashed their master plan and WWIII is looming on the near horizon, Sabina's been kidnapped for the second time in her life and is about to become the bait in what ever trap the crime syndicate is setting for Alex. How is our favorite spy going to cope with being so emotionally dependent on the outcome of this situation?**

**Stick around to find out!**

**Just to get it out there right now, this is ****_not_ an Alex and Sab fic, even if Sabina is integral to the plot. Sorry to disappoint.**

**(1) Special Forces is the blanket category for the SAS (Special Air Service), SBS (Special Boat Service) and the SRR (Special Reconnaissance Regiment).**

**(2)Military time. The armed forces use a 24 hour clock that allows them to avoid confusion between a.m. and p.m. hours. Its a four digit number, with out a colon (or period, I guess depending on the country you live in) separating hours and minutes. It looks like normal time for the first twelve hours (save the fact that there is a 0 before hours in the single digits). After that, just subtract 12 from the first two numbers (hours) to get the proper time.... So 2329 hours is 11:29 p.m. because 23-12=11 and so forth.**

**Random fact: Lake Baikal is the world's deepest freshwater lake.**

**I've started a short companion piece that should provide a snapshot of Alex's return to SF jungle training in Borneo. Hopefully it won't take me too long to finish and I'll be able to post it soon. **

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	5. Part IV: Fragility

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough said.**

Part IV: Fragility

Two hours and forty minutes later the meeting of COBRA had finally come to an end and Alex was 30,000 feet in the air aboard the Prime Minister's private jet along with the Minister and Alan Blunt. He had found his way into many private jets over the course of his career- including Air Force One and the Russian president's Lear Jet, and this one was no different. It was comfortable and extravagant, possessing none of the down falls of commercial airliners, But Alex couldn't focus on the luxurious leather seats and excessive legroom; his barely contained rage bubbled as strong as ever and for the first time, since there were much fewer witnesses, he allowed his control to slip slightly and the emotion leak through.

"You said she was safe Blunt," he ground out, not trusting himself to be able to speak normally. "This is the second major Scorpia related security breach in seven months!"

"I'm sorry Alex, but—"

"Spare me the bullshit, Blunt. I know you well enough to know you're about as sorry as I am harmless. You had both the CIA and MI6 watching her and Scorpia _still_ managed to get through!"

"Really Alex, you need to calm down. You can't—"

"I don't want to hear your excuses," Alex growled dangerously. "Just find your damn mole, Blunt, because I'm tired of cleaning up your messes."

"Are you insinuating—"

"Yes."

Alex returned to a state of angry brooding, choosing to ignore the others on the plane after he had finished saying his piece. The Prime Minister had remained silent throughout the exchange, taken aback by the force of Alex's outburst. He had met the teenage spy on several occasions and every time he had been calm and collected, his face carefully schooled into an emotionless mask. The young man's display of emotion was exceptionally rare, which only served to unnerve the minister more. He decided to find out more about the girl that was bringing out such a strong emotional reaction from his country's best agent.

"How do you know her?" he asked quietly, careful not to incite the wrath that was still noticeably bubbling just under the surface.

Alex slowly moved his gaze from the floor to the Minister; his eyes still black with suppressed rage. The Minister could tell that even though the spy was looking in his direction, he wasn't really seeing him.

"We met at Wimbledon, shortly before the whole mess with Sarov," Alex replied. "She was one of the most genuine people I had ever met. We just clicked."

"Was she your girlfriend?" the Minister asked tentatively, hoping that he wasn't crossing any lines.

"God, no," Alex laughed, though the sound was angry. "She likes playing the field too much for that. We're close though, even if we don't talk much any more. She's one of the few people that knew the truth almost from the beginning about where I disappear to all of the time." Alex shot Blunt a dark glare as he spoke; knowing that it was because of poor leadership that his occupational secrets had been somewhat compromised to a—admittedly miniscule— portion of the general public. "She means a lot to me. She's one of the few people I've ever really let in."

Alex quickly lapsed back into silence and the Minister knew that he would be leaning nothing more from the tortured agent.

***

Seven hours later the jet touched down in Washington, DC where the leaders of the major western powers were meeting for an emergency security summit in order to determine which plan of action would be used to counter act the threat posed by the infant N-USSR. Due to the heightened security risks they were transported from the airport to an "undisclosed location" that happened to be the presidents emergency security bunker. It was built deep underground, six hours outside of the capital and in the middle of a no-fly zone.

Alex, Blunt, and the Prime Minister were quickly escorted from the jet to the black Mercedes Guard that was waiting for them on the tarmac. The secret serviceman in the driver's seat nodded grimly to them as they entered the car, but otherwise remained silent and stony. Alex ignored curious, but professional glances that he knew the serviceman was shooting at him from behind the security of his dark sunglasses, deciding to devote the six-hour drive to sleep, instinctively knowing that it was the last decent rest he was going to get for long time to come.

Alex woke when he felt the car begin to descend steeply and opened his eyes to see them entering a tunnel. The sunlight faded quickly behind them and was replaced by the harsh, artificial brightness of fluorescent light. After almost ten minutes of following the subterranean road the driver came to a stop, the entrance to the bunker just ahead.

The four men exited the car and walked purposefully towards the reinforced steel doors that were opened for them by two soldiers. The SS man led them confidently through the maze of corridors to the large cabinet room where the world leaders would be meeting. Blunt walked into the room without question, but Alex paused at the door, staring into the room where the fate of the world would be decided with unseeing eyes.

The Prime Minister studied the spy soberly from his position beside him. In the hours since boarding the plane, Alex had managed to rein in his anger, leaving him cold and emotionless once more. His shoulders were tight and his posture stiff, as if he could already feel the weight of world upon his shoulders.

"They'll be looking for you to lead this operation you know," the Minister said quietly, reluctant to break his best operative from his introspection.

"I know," replied Alex, his tone matching the Minister's, "That's why I have to become a man without a country the moment I step through these doors." He caught sight of the Minister's confused gaze and elaborated. "We have to present a unified front and we can't show equality if one country takes the directive. The intelligence agencies of each of these countries have all used me at some point or another over the course of my career, so in a way I'm the most qualified to represent all of them." He swallowed thickly before continuing, "And I have too much personally invested in the success of this operation to be tied down by national loyalties."

The Prime Minister nodded in understanding and the two of them walked into the conference room where the other world leaders were waiting. Like the rest of the bunker, the room was stark and white, but like the room where COBRA meetings were held, images were projected onto screens around the room, allowing for real-time intelligence updates in regards to the brewing situation.

The summit consisted of leadership from The United States, Britain, France, Germany, Canada, and Australia as well as the heads of the intelligence services for each of the countries. Alex received nods of greeting from many of the people who were congregated as he and the Minister took their seats.

After a moment of loaded silence the President cleared his throat and spoke. "Alright, you know why you're here, now lets get started."

***

After five hours of debate, a solid plan of action had been established and the council began to move on to the task of selecting operatives. Alex who had so far been much more active in negotiations than he had at COBRA once again spoke up.

"I've already been informed that I've been requested to lead this operation, and I've made it clear to my superiors that because of this, I will not be operating under the banner of any nation for the duration of the operation. This is both to preserve equality and because this operation is, for me, one of an extremely personal nature." Alex paused, glancing momentarily at a photograph of Sabina that had been projected onto one of the many screens. "Although I'm sure you all have ideas on who you would like to contribute to this operation, I would like to personally select the representatives from each country. With an operation of this size and delicacy I need people I can trust behind me, and I don't have time to establish the level of trust I need with new operatives."

A murmur of assent ran around the table and Alex nodded his head curtly in acknowledgement. "Good. We'll start with the UK then. Blunt, I want Daniels and K-Unit. Byrne, Knight and Shulski. From the DGSE, George Maxwell and Julia Basso. ASIS, Guy Hawthorne and Stephanie Irwin. BND, Henry Granger and Edward Aldridge. SCRS, Nicole Wright and Colden Murray(1). Everyone should gather at Stuggart Air Force Base in Germany by 0600 hours two days from now where they will receive a complete briefing of the operation."

There were nods of agreement and the French President made the parting remark. "Good luck Agent Rider, the fate of the world rests in your hands."

Alex nodded, his jaw tight. Once again he was shouldering a responsibility far greater than any man should, but he could not bring himself to protest. He knew the reasons. He had done it before. The only difference now was the fact that this assignment, like no other, had the power to break him.

***

Alex sat cross-legged on the concrete floor of an empty military hangar at the US military installation in Germany waiting for his team to arrive. His eyes were closed and he was shirtless as his weapons lay before him, his breathing was deep and even and his posture relaxed. He was bathed in a diluted sunlight of the early morning from the hangar's windows and open doors as he meditated in the center of the deserted space. He had always found the practice of meditation to be relaxing and there were many times that he had used it in lieu of actual sleep when he had found himself in a position where he was unable to sleep or he had woken up after the occasional nightmare. It allowed his mind to rest and recharge without dimming his awareness of the outside world.

Although his back was too the entrance, he heard the sound of echoing footsteps approaching as the members of the joint spec-ops team arrived. As the team came closer gasps and sharp hisses of surprise joined the sound of their heavy footsteps. Few of them had ever seen Alex's bare skin and the unusual additions of the past four months were enough to shock those who had.

"Shit, Alex," a masculine voice hissed, only to be followed by a second familiar, and much more feminine voice.

"Holy mother of God, where did you get all those scars?"

"You haven't even seen the bullet wound yet," a gruff and authoritative voice stated matter-of-factly from the back of the group.

"Bullet wound?!" a chorus of voices exclaimed in shocked and worried tones.

"Yeah," another British-accent tinged voice chimed in, "Three centimeters above the heart, through-and-through." The others spluttered in shock, unable to form coherent sentences.

"That's about what our reaction was when we found out five months ago," the gruff voice commented, the tone slightly accusing. "The tattoo's a new addition though," he added as an afterthought, no doubt studying the intricate ink work that now covered the layers of scars on the spy's back.

Alex decided that it was time to intervene in the conversation. Until that moment he had remained completely still and silent, giving no sign that he was aware of the group gathered behind him, discussing the condition of his body.

"It was three years ago, Wolf. We weren't exactly on speaking terms then."

The group behind him went utterly silent, slightly uncomfortable with being caught talking about him.

"But you've had three years to tell us since then!"

Alex shrugged minutely, still facing away from the group, eyes closed. "Wasn't important. Wasn't bothering me."

"Still, you'd think that we _might_ have liked to have been informed that our fifth member came within centimeters of being killed by a sniper."

"Look, if you want insider information on my blood feud with Scorpia, then the good news is you are now right in the middle of it," Alex replied, his tone taking on an uncharacteristically sharp edge.

The outburst caught the SAS team leader off guard and quickly silenced him. None of the operatives had ever seen the legendary spy so close to loosing control of his carefully concealed emotions. They knew that if the situation had pushed his control so close to its breaking point then it was either more serious or more personal than any of them had anticipated.

Very few, as of yet, were aware of Sabina's kidnapping.

A voice with a rough German accent cut through the silence, changing the subject in an attempt to lift the tense atmosphere. "Atlas. An interesting choice for such a large tattoo."

Alex slowly pushed himself off the floor and stood erect with his back still to his audience. The new position gave the team a much clearer view of the artwork on his back, depicting the great titan Atlas carrying the earth on his shoulders in shades of black, blue, and green. He looked down at the gun that he now held, passing it slowly from hand to hand, before he glanced over his shoulder to make eye contact with the German spy.

"I've had the fate of the world in my hands enough times to know what a burden it can be, Edward," he said, a hint of bitterness evident in his voice. "That was painfully obvious with the French President's parting words. The politicians made it very clear that if WWIII broke out the responsibility was on me."

"Shit," the German whispered, loathing the world leadership for the depths they would sink to in order to absolve themselves from responsibility if world destruction commenced.

"Don't you ever worry about having definitive markings?" DGSE operative Julia Basso enquired as Alex finally turned around to face the special-op team under his command, placing the firearm back on the concrete floor and retrieving his discarded, black long-sleeved shirt. The group got a brief glimpse of the bullet wound and scalpel scars on his chest as he twisted the black fabric in his hands.

"Not really," he replied as he shrugged the shirt. "Scorpia made that impossible when they branded me anyway." The team watched in slight apprehension as he secured his Sig-229 in the holster on his lower back. He then proceeded to slide a Ruger LCP into a holster on his left hip. He finished off by securing a Steel Eagle into a sheath on his calf.

When he was finished, Alex redirected his attention to his team and pulled a remote from his pocket. He pressed a button, causing images to be projected on the hangar's blank walls. "Alright," he said, recapturing the operatives' attention, "You all know about the situation that has arisen in the past three days. Scorpia has joined forces with former KGB director Victor Kuznetsov in what appears to be a plot as old as the organization itself. This partnership is carried out primarily through volatile paramilitary factions implanted in the national militaries of the countries involved, known as ANWOCS. The countries involved in the coups have since joined together to form a New Soviet Union with its capital in Irkutsk, near Lake Baikal.

"To counter act this, the Western powers have put together an international task force of special-ops personnel— that's us— to infiltrate the infantile, and still volatile government and destabilize it from the inside while the Western governments keep up a front of diplomacy. The majority of the people in the participating nations are extremely unhappy with the current turn of events— the rioting and protests that have broken out since the merger of nations is enough to prove that. With the leadership taken off line, it should prove easy to disband the alliance of nations and return them to their previous state.

"As soon as the government proves unstable enough to cause it to disband, a military attack will be launched on Malogosto, Scorpia's premier training facility in the Mediterranean as well as several other strategic locations. The failure of the operation and the destruction of their major facilities will destroy what is left of Scorpia, or at least, put it out of commission for a very, _very_, long time.

"I shouldn't need to tell you that this is a mission of extreme delicacy. If you are exposed before the government is sufficiently destabilized we risk bringing nuclear destruction to the countries we have sworn to protect. The task of destabilization will fall to Knight, Shulski, Daniels, Maxwell, Basso, Hawthorne, Irwin, Aldridge, Granger, Wright, and Murray. K-Unit will act as our specialist team, providing tactical support, communications, medical, and black ops support. I trust them with my life, you can trust them with yours."

Alex shared a significant look with Wolf. His words were high praise for his adoptive unit, showing once again that the transgressions of the past had been long forgotten. Alex took a deep breath and pressed another button on the remote, causing the projections to change. A now familiar photograph appeared on the screen. He was careful to make sure that his face remained cold and emotionless as he carried on with the briefing.

"In the midst of all of this, Scorpia has taken one hostage. An eighteen-year-old British woman by the name of Sabina Pleasure." His jaw tightened momentarily at the name but he kept going and only those who knew him best caught the movement. "She moved to the States and became a naturalized citizen at 15 after her father narrowly survived an attempted assassination by well known contract killer Yassen Gregorovich. She was kidnapped weeks after the failed assassination by the same man and used as bait for the operation that he was contracted to under Damian Cray. As you have realized, this is not the first time that she has found herself in this situation." Alex didn't look at Daniels or K-Unit as he spoke. They knew the majority of his history and they were aware of the significance of her being taken hostage. He couldn't bear to see the sympathy in their eyes.

"While you are working away at the government and K-Unit is supplying the technical support, I will be seeking out the hostage and positioning myself to remove her when the time comes. This will also put me in a prime position in which to take care of Kuznetsov and any Scorpia board members since they will, in all likelihood, be sticking close to their hostage."

There were nods of understanding from the group of agents. They all knew that his job wold be the hardest out of all of theirs.

"Alright. That's it," Alex said, beginning his dismissal. He picked up a stack of manila folders that had been lying at his feet and began handing them out the respective agents. "These are your official briefings. You'll find details about the operation and your cover identities inside. Read them, memorize them, and destroy them. A stealth modified C-130 Hercules will be air lifting us out of here at 1400 hours and we will parachute into the area in and around the city under the cover of darkness. You will find the coordinates and specs of the rendezvous point in your folders. You were all chosen for this assignment because I trust you, now its time for you to prove why."

The spec-ops team collected their folders in silence, the unspoken ultimatum hanging thickly in the air. They watched apprehensively as Alex stalked out of the hanger, calling over his shoulder that he would be in a teleconference update meeting with the Western leaders. There was still rigidity to his usually fluid and lethal movements that set the rest of the team on edge.

Wolf was the first to speak up in the team leader's absence, answering the unspoken question. "He's angry. MI6's recent security breaches have hit too close to home and they're jeopardizing everything."

"This is about the girl isn't it?" Tamara asked. She had worked Alex several times since their first mission together and they had always got along well. A tremendous amount of trust had been built between them over the years and she was one of the few who had ever truly learned to read the minute, and generally unnoticeable, facial expressions that sometimes slipped through his cold exterior. There was something more to what was going on and it worried her.

Wolf fixed the American spy with a piercing gaze as he weighed his words, deciding how much it was appropriate to disclose. "Alex is more machine than human being now. A machine with morals maybe, but still a machine. That girl is one of his last remaining links to his humanity. One of his last links, and she doesn't even know it."

***

Tamara Knight was worried. She had known Alex for the majority of his career and over the years she had come to care for the young spy. Attachments were a dangerous thing to have in the world of espionage, but it was nearly impossible to work with the teenage superspy and not come out of the experience changed. Whether it was because of his devotion, his determination, or his unique, successful, and decidedly suicidal tactics, those who worked with Alex Rider often found themselves forming bonds of nearly unshakable loyalty.

They would follow him into anything, knowing what he was doing was right. It was a kind of trust that was dangerous to have, but impossible to stop.

After the success of Ark Angel, the CIA had made a habit of partnering Tamara with Alex for joint operations whenever possible. They worked well as a team and Alex had come to as close to absolute trust with her as he ever got.

Tamara slipped into the US military installment's office building and quietly made her way to the conference room. She paused when she came to the open door, taking in the scene before her.

Alex sat behind a simple desk constructed of glass and steel, facing a bank of flat-screen TVs. While they were black and silent now, Tamara knew that they had shown live feeds of those participating in the teleconference that had taken place not an hour ago. The young spy's shoulders were slightly hunched as his elbows rested on the desk and his head hung buried in his hands. He looked exhausted and aged by the weight of the responsibility that he was carrying on his shoulders.

It was a rare occurrence that anyone saw Alex with his walls down, and even then they were only lowered marginally. Tamara knew that he was aware of her presence, a fact made it even more surprising since it meant that he had allowed her to see him this way.

The fact was that Alex couldn't summon the energy required to keep up his walls in that moment. The emotional stew within him needed a release, if only for a little while. The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Tamara knew that it was no use to try to get information out of him. If he wanted to tell her what he was thinking, then he would.

Alex eventually broke the silence, his low, tired voice cutting through the still atmosphere. "She was fifteen when we met. I was undercover at Wimbledon: my first brush with the Triads. We just clicked instantly; she was so easy to get along with. Between her crass jokes and carefree attitude, there was never a dull moment when she was around." He sighed, dropping his hands to the desk where they thumbed across the photo that had accompanied Sabina's file, tracing along the contours of her face.

"What happened?" Tamara asked softly. She was curious, but not willing to push for information.

Alex chuckled humorlessly before answering. "Gregorovich happened," he said. "Her dad's a reporter. He was researching the NSA when he came across information that indicated that someone pretty high up in the organization was dirty and began investigating. Certain people heard and Gregorovich was dispatched to eliminate him. I was vacationing with them in France when it happened. I had seen him arrive in the harbor earlier that day, but after some preliminary snooping I decided to leave it alone. I knew he was there to kill someone, but I convinced myself that it wasn't my concern. At the time I was desperate to escape all of this, not trying to find a way back in. I assumed he was after some politician; imagine my reaction when the house we were staying in was blown to smithereens later that day."

"God, Alex," Tamara replied miserably, knowing how he would have blamed himself for what had happened.

Alex flashed her a small, sad smile and carried on wirh his story. "Edward only survived because the bomb wasn't placed close enough to his office, a mistake made by the man Gregorovich was working with. The police blamed it on a gas leak, but I knew immediately what had happened. Later that night I had Gregorovich at point blank range with his own gun, but I didn't have it in me back then to pull the trigger, and he knew it. The only good thing that came of the encounter was that I gleaned enough information to keep the investigation going."

"How did she end up getting kidnapped?" Tamara asked tentatively.

"MI6 didn't put any stock into what I was claiming so I was on my own. I was becoming a real thorn in the side of Gregorovich's contractor so he kidnapped Sabina when she was visiting her father at the hospital to use as bait. Things went forward from there and eventually I was able to stop his employer, but Sabina didn't escape without emotional scars—she's just not strong enough for this world. Her family moved to America for a new start. I've only seen her a handful of times over the last three years and we call each other occasionally, but it's hard when talking to me is a living reminder of her trauma. She's already suffered enough on my account." Alex's voice cracked slightly at the end of his speech, the ache at causing his friend so much pain was evident.

Tamara frowned with worry. It wasn't like Alex to invest so much of himself into a single person. She was worried about what their current situation would ultimately do to him if the girl were to get hurt or killed before she could be extracted. "It isn't like you to let people get that close, Alex." She noted anxiously.

"I know," he exclaimed, somewhat defensively, "Alex Rider, master of turning off his emotions, who knows pain and betrayal better than anyone, ultimately ends up letting himself get close enough to someone to run the very real risk of getting burned _again_." He laughed bitterly, reflecting on the catch-22 that was his life. "Don't you think I know how fucked up all of this is Tamara? But when isn't it? I'm good at keeping my distance for the most part, but even _I_ can't be expected to go through life without making a single meaningful bond. How else do people like us stay _sane_? "

"I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Alex sighed. "I know. There's always a risk when emotions are involved," he replied tiredly, ironing his face with the palms of his hands. "But sometimes you can't stop these things from happening, and now…now it's complicating an already complicated situation."

In a rare gesture of reassurance, Tamara reached out and grasped Alex's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I can't make any promises, Alex, but for your sake, I hope this works out." Alex looked into her eyes, his expression unreadable as he searched for some unnamed emotion in their depths. After a moment he gave her a tired smile.

"Thanks."

**(1) For those who aren't familiar with them, the abbreviations and associated countries for various foreign intelligence services (not all of them are in the story):**

**MI6- Military Intelligence: Sector Six (Britain-External)**

**MI5- Military Intelligence: Sector Five (Britain-Internal)**

**CIA- Central Intelligence Agency (USA)**

**DGSE- **_**Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure**_** or Directorate-General for External Security (France)**

**ASIS- Australian Secret Intelligence Service (Australia)**

**BND- **_**Bundesnachrichtendienst**_** or Federal Intelligence Service (Germany)**

**SCRS- Candian Security Intelligence Service (Canada)**

**GRU- **_**Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye**_** or Main Intelligence Directorate [military intelligence] (Russia)**

**SVR- **_**Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki **_**or Forgien Intelligence Service (Russia) [It stopped being the KGB when the USSR collapsed **_**please**_** stop getting them mixed up.]**

**KGB- _Komitet gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti _or Committee for State Security (USSR)**

**So Alex isn't quite as perfect as we all like to think he is and the more personal things get, the more his flaws start to show, reminding us that he is still in fact _human_. **

**I've always though of Alex as the kind of guy who would get a tattoo- and now he has. His scars make him so recognizable when he isn't covered up that it wouldn't make much of a difference in terms of identifiers if he had some ink as well (at least that's my excuse). **

**I chose Atlas for the design because of its symbolism. There have been so many times in the books (and in this story) that Alex has the fate of the world solely in his hands. This time he has the rest of his team to back him up, but as the one in charge, the responsibility is once again falling primarily on him. And, as our French president implied, he'll make a great scapegoat if things go south, especially since he was so involved in which plan of action was decided upon and while he's acting as a "free agent" no country will claim that he's either acting under their orders or even a citizen. His existence would be wiped from all databases. **

**All things considered, Alex is in a pretty tight spot. He's got way too much riding on the outcome of this operation to even consider failing. Definitely not a stress free situation.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	6. Part V: Infiltrate

**So now we start to get into the action. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough said.**

Part V: Operation Stage I: Infiltrate

The spec-ops team made the final preparations for their jump in the dimly lit cargo bay of the stealth modified C-130; the red lights mounted above the cockpit door in the bay providing their only source of illumination. They were no more than dark shadows in their black stealth gear as they moved around the space, double-checking that chutes were properly packed and that weapons and equipment were secured. The only noise was the rumbling of the plane's giant engines as they traveled through the cool night air.

Alex had once again reeled in his emotions and pushed all attachments to Sabina out of his mind, though he did not miss the worried glances from his unit, Ben, Tamara, and Edward: the people who knew him best. They seemed relieved to see him return to the cool emotionless agent they all knew so well.

The cockpit door opened and the co-pilot stuck his head through the opening. "10 Mikes to Lima-Zulu(1)," he yelled over the thunder of the engines and the tension in the cargo bay noticeably strengthened. The team took their places on the benches lining the bay after a final equipment check. They slipped on their ATN PS15-4 night vision goggles as Alex began barking out last minute orders.

"K-unit, you'll drop first, the rest will go two at a time and I'll take the rear. Lima-Zulu is about four kliks west of Romeo-Victor, which is an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. Make your way straight to it. Don't wait up. We'll regroup and make plans to get to the safe house from there." The team nodded in agreement as the cargo bay's doors began to open and the co-pilot once again shouted over the din.

"Two Mikes to Lima-Zulu." K-unit shuffled towards the opening doors, waiting for the signal and Alex took the chance to make one of his trademark smart-ass remarks.

"Wolf," he called, causing the SAS soldier to break out of his preoccupation with the plane's altitude.

"Cub?"

"I better not have to kick your ass out of the plane this time," he said with a smirk. Wolf leveled a menacing glare towards Alex and flipped the young spy off. Alex merely raised his eyebrows, unaffected by the SAS soldier's harsh gaze or rude hand gestures. Just then the alarm buzzed and the bay lights turned green and K-Unit disappeared into the night sky. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Alex urged the others on as they dropped out of the plane in pairs. Soon he was the only one left in the plane and he glanced back towards the cockpit one last time, nodding to the co-pilot in thanks.

"Good luck, soldier," the man shouted over the noise, and Alex gave him a quick thumbs up before he threw himself into the night.

***

Alex's face smarted as the cold air rushed past him and he felt through the darkness. He spent about two minutes in free fall before he pulled the cord and the silken black chute deployed out of his pack. There was a sharp jerk as the air catching beneath the canopy slowed his movement considerably and he continued to fall at a more leisurely pace. Alex tugged the guidelines, carefully maneuvering to land in a shallow valley between to hills before he hit the ground heavily at a run. The shallow valley he had chosen offered the greatest amount of coverage in the nearly deserted fields that surrounded the city. Through the lenses of his goggles, the scene was bathed in an ghostly green.

Alex quickly unbuckled himself from the chute and hastily folded and stored it before unclipping a Boeing CSEL hand held field radio from his belt and hailing his team mates over a predetermined frequency. Although he could spot a few of the members of the his team that had landed relatively close to himself, the long grass and the lay of the land prevented him from confirming that each member had landed safely and discretely. "This is Alpha-Gold," he identified, using the approved radio call signs, "All operatives report in." A moment of silence passed before each agent reported his or her status in respective order.

"Kilo-Gold is go."

"Red-1, go."

"Red-2, go...."

The rest of the team reported in one at a time, assuring that they were in the clear and uncompromised. Alex waited until every member of the team had called in before his spoke again. "Alright, it looks like we're all here. Meet up at Romeo-Victor by 0400 hours and we'll go from there. Tab four kliks east, so that should be sufficient time. Radio silence from here, emergency Net only."

"Wilco," came the reply from the other operatives. Satisfied, Alex nodded to himself before switching channels and hailed the plane.

"Night Hawk, this is Alpha-Gold, all units, go. Thanks for the lift."

"10-4, Alpha-Gold, good luck and god speed."

"Roger that," Alex replied before switching to the emergency frequency and melting into the landscape like a ghost in the darkness.

***

The Western edge of Irkutsk ended abruptly as the industrial yards on that side of the city gave way to the rolling fields of the plains of Russia's more temperate regions. Decrepit warehouses built of concrete and steel seemed to spring out of the ground, abruptly disturbing the barrenness of the plains. In the grey half-light of the approaching dawn the empty factories were otherworldly and cold, emitting a feel of solitude and neglect.

One by one the members of the spec-ops team approached the aging buildings; guided towards the RV by the precision GPS function built into their CSEL radios. The target of choice was an abandoned steel mill; stacks of forsaken steel girders lay aimlessly across the open yard.

Alex slipped through a small opening in the yard's rusted chain link fence and made his way across the deserted space, using the intermittent stacks of steel for cover in the small chance that there was any remaining surveillance in the area. The paved surface was cracked and uneven under his feet as nature began to reclaim the land, and he felt as if he were journeying through a post-apocalyptic world. When he had crossed the open yard he surreptitiously crept toward a door to the compound that hung loosely on its hinges, the forced bolt suggested that the others had already begun to arrive. The forced door wouldn't look suspicious on this part of town; the abandoned factory was the perfect hide out for any of the drug dealers or thugs that resided in the city.

Alex cautiously nudged the door open with his toe, making sure that he was invisible to anyone in the building as he drew his Ruger from its holster on his hip. He slipped into the building gun first, carefully checking that it was clear and wincing as his usually soft footsteps echoed throughout the large, deserted space.

The main factory building consisted of a single large production room where the steel had once been melted, cast, and ground. In the eerie green of his infrared goggles, Alex could see that piles of steel and machinery lay abandoned, left to corrode where they had been carelessly dropped when the factory had closed its doors. As Alex pressed further into the building he was able to make out a dim light ahead of him emanating from behind a pile of steel girders. Soon after, he could make out the sound of hushed voices. He recognized Wolf's deep timbre among them.

When he was approximately 50 yards away, the voices stopped abruptly and he heard the sound of guns being cocked warily in the event that the new comer was a hostile presence. "Alpha-Gold, reporting in," Alex quickly identified, though he didn't lower his gun. There was silence for a moment, before he saw Snake approaching cautiously, his own gun at the ready. After the two had visually confirmed identity, Snake nodded to Alex and lowered his gun. Alex nodded back, lowering his own weapon and following the SAS man into the makeshift camp.

K-unit, Daniels, and the French and German operatives had already arrived and the group was huddled in the pool of yellow light that emanated from the small electric lantern that was placed in the middle of the protected space. Alex raised his night vision goggles for the first time that night, blinking rapidly as color seeped back into the world and his surroundings took on a warm glow from the yellow light of the lantern.

The team conversed quietly, as they ate the rations that they had stowed in their packs and waited for the remainder of the group to arrive. The rest of the team trickled in, arriving groups of one or two and within half an hour, the entire sixteen-man team was assembled. Alex remained on the periphery of the group, preferring to review the situation in his head as the spec-ops team discussed how to best destabilize the infantile government in hushed voices. As the RV deadline approached, Alex rummaged through his pack and pulled out a set of non descript civilian attire. He slipped the faded jeans and dark blue button up shirt over his Nomex stealth suit and tucked his Sig into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back before stowing away his second gun. He slung the backpack onto his back and looked around to see the rest of the team following his lead. Soon, they looked to be no more than a group of civilians in states of dress that covered the economic spectrum. Although it was the October night was crisp and cold due to the fast approaching Russian winter, but the light jackets that were all they had room to carry would not look out of place for the time of year. To the rest of the city, they would look as if they were no more than people coming home after a late night in one of the city's many bars or clubs.

"Right," Alex said, bringing the attention of the team back to him. "The safe house is located eight blocks away from the capitol building in an apartment district just outside of down town, you all know where. It's not secure yet so be careful what you say until we get a chance to put some security measures in place. Later today we'll go out and round up any supplies we need for the operation, but for now, lets focus on settling in and getting a couple hours of shut eye."

The team murmured in agreement and Alex nodded in satisfaction. They picked up camp and slipped out of the factory and into the abandoned street in small groups, leaving no trace of their presence behind. The team was careful to remain spaced out, giving no indication that any one group knew those in another. As they entered the more lived in part of the city, the groups dispersed, each taking a different route to arrive at the safe house.

Alex strolled casually through the downtown district of Irkutsk, his breath rising before him in an icy cloud as he took a route that would lead him past the capitol. BND agent Edward Aldridge walked quietly beside him, dressed in similar attire. With his dark blonde hair and strong facial features, he could pass as Alex's older brother; the appearance that they were trying to sell. The two kept up casual conversation as a pretense as their eyes darted around, taking in their surroundings. They slowed slightly as they approached the capitol, intent to get a better read on the location while still remaining inconspicuous.

Edward casually leaned over to whisper into the younger agent's ear as they watched a military helicopter land on the roof of the building, which in preliminary observations appeared to actually be two separate buildings attached by a short, windowless, bottle-neck corridor.

"There's an vacant office building behind us," the older agent muttered as they continued to walk past the capitol.

Alex nodded minutely in affirmation. The knowledge that there was a deserted space so close to the capitol was likely to be integral to their future strategies. "The helipad's a possibility too," he muttered. "Too bad we can't get a clear view of security."

"It's bound to be tight," the German replied as the helicopter lifted off and disappeared into the night.

Alex nodded again, a slight frown coloring his usually neutral expression. "We'll have our work cut out for us," he agreed.

***

The safe house was a small, dilapidated building that was wedged between two apartment complexes in a residential area of downtown Irkutsk. Like the rest of the city, its shabbiness was a clear indication of the financial instability and general poverty that was common throughout Russia. Despite it's state of disrepair, it provided the perfect base of operations for the spec-ops team as it was relatively close to their target, was nondescript, and, though it would be a tight squeeze, there was enough room for all sixteen members of the team.

Alex and Edward were the first two to arrive, just before five o'clock in the morning. Alex unlocked the door and the two spies slipped inside. The safe house was one of the many that the DGSE kept in Russia and had been offered up by the security service as "base camp" for the operation. Alex locked the door behind them as Edward flicked on the lights. Each operative had been issued a key before leaving the US military installment in Germany.

The interior was clean, but bare; only the necessities were present. The two agents set up shop, Edward catching up on sleep in a chair in the living room while Alex pulled a small electronic devise from his pack and scanned the house from top to bottom for bugs.

When he was sure that the house was secure, Alex sat in the kitchen and spread his files and other important documents across the plain wooden table. He pulled his laptop out of his pack and powered it up, using his encrypted link to MI6's databases to pull up more files. He began sifting through data, looking for weaknesses that the team could exploit. So far, the western security services had been unable to anticipate what moves the leaders of the N-USSR were going to make. Although they were intercepting a growing number of communications, they were scrambled and heavily encrypted and the cryptanalysts were making no headway. Alex suspected that the leading figures were using secure Black Phones(2) to communicate, but unless he could find a way in, there was no proof.

The other agents trickled into the house slowly over the course of the following half hour. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon and many of the team members were becoming tired, though they hid it well.

"We're clean," he told each of them, "Get some rest. We'll get the ball rolling in a couple of hours."

K-Unit was the last group to report in. They found Alex still seated in the kitchen as the rest of the team slept. Alex sat with his still booted feet propped up on the table as he studied a set of blueprints. Papers, files, and various pieces of equipment were spread out around him and his computer was busy processing massive amounts of data as he tried to make his own headway on some of the intercepted transmissions, such as e-mails, that were not the first priority of the analysts back home and were not as heavily encrypted.

Snake frowned in disapproval at the young spy, who had only spared them a cursory glance upon their entrance. "You need to sleep as much as the rest of us Cub," he said, taking on his role of unit medic. Alex brushed him off, not even bothering to spare the soldier a glance as he grabbed another file and immersed himself in it. He frowned slightly as he got further down the page and his eyes flicked back to the blueprints that he still held in his other hand, searching for inconsistencies.

"Not now, Snake, I've survived on less."

Snake sighed and flopped into one of the chairs that encircled the table, knowing that there would be no reasoning with Alex. The other members of the unit followed suit, shrugging packs off their shoulders and easing into chairs. Wolf leaned over to get a glimpse of the files Alex was studying as Eagle began pulling packages out of his pack.

"Those the capitol blueprints?" the unit leader asked casually as he pulled a stack of files from the table and began to read them.

"Yeah," Alex replied distractedly as his eyes flickered between the file and the plans, his slight frown still in place.

"Are they even complete?" the soldier asked, already expecting the answer.

"Hardly," Alex snorted. "You know how easily contractors and city officials cave to bribes around here. There's a helipad on the roof that's not accounted for that we could use though, and the office building across the street is empty." His glance flickered up to Eagle, who had begun setting up several small electrical devices on the counter. "You have enough of those?" he asked.

"How many windows are there?"

"Eleven."

"Then plenty."

Eagle activated one of the devices and carefully attached it to the bottom corner of the small kitchen window. It was a piezoelectric oscillator, which would prevent anyone who was watching from using infrared technology on the windows to bug the house. Alex went back to studying the files as the SAS soldier made his way around the safe house, installing an oscillator on every window. When he was done, he pulled a small electronic box from his pack and set it up in the corner of the kitchen. It would prevent others from listening in by emitting a high frequency white-noise "drench" that would mask other communications and disable bugs. Despite the safe house's dilapidated appearance, the walls had been sound proofed so with the extra technology its occupants were fairly well protected from being overheard.

While Eagle set up security, Wolf poured over files, and Snake frowned in disapproval at Alex's lack of sleep, Bear, the unit's Scout Shooter occupied himself with examining Alex's Sig-229, which had been lying on the table where Alex had tossed it. Something seemed to catch his eye as he passed the gun from hand to hand, and he brought it up to his face for closer examination. His expression became more perplexed as he scrutinized the trigger mechanism.

"I didn't know that Sig Sauer used Smart Gun, technology." He said, brushing his finger carefully over the trigger as his brows knitted in confusion.

"They don't," Alex replied as he set down the files he was holding and began rapidly typing commands into his laptop. "Smart Gun is Colt technology. Smithers modified all of my equipment a couple of months ago. It works the same way though: print sensitive firing mechanisms. Thought it was a good idea, especially for when I'm equipped with more than enough equipment to make it easily accessible to my opponent." The laptop beeped and a small, satisfied smile appeared momentarily on Alex's lips, but it was soon replaced with a frown and a frustrated sigh as the young spy leaned back heavily in his chair.

"I finally manage to break through the light encryption, only to find that they're writing e-mails in code," he growled. He pushed the laptop aside and returned once again to the stacks of files spread out before him.

***

The rest of the team was awake by nine o'clock, sitting spread through the kitchen and living room and eating the remainders of the rations that they had packed for the night before. There was still no real food in the safe house— one of the many things that had to be taken care of that day.

Parachuting into Russia had meant that each person had only been able to carry with them the bare necessities: their weapons, special equipment, a change of cloths, field rations, and in Alex's case, the files and dossiers that they needed for the operation. The team now had to spend the day obtaining everything that they were unable to bring with them.

The team split up to run their errands, going in small groups or alone, acting as if they were normal civilians. They staggered their departure from the safe house so that it was not as obvious that such a large group was staying in the dilapidated looking building.

Alex walked through the streets of downtown Irkutsk by himself, dressed similarly to the many other Russian teenage boys that thronged the street. Now, when the city was populated in daylight, the unrest among the people was evident. Most kept it to muttering to one another, intimidated by the ANWOCS troops that patrolled the streets. They were more ruthless than regular soldiers, willing to use excessive violence to keep the city under their control. There was an underlying tension, though, that was just waiting to explode, if only it could be given the right catalyst.

Alex returned to the safe house after visits to various clothing stores and a military supply shop. He financed his purchases with money withdrawn from one of his many international accounts set up under various aliases. As his career in espionage had grown, he had begun to take on cases that required as much standard fieldwork as they did his unorthodox methods. He had contacts around the world, which knew him under a host of false names. The legends he had created for himself allowed him to infiltrate crime networks more easily, giving him a backstopped history that would make his appearance more credible and less open to suspicion. It was a practice used by most intelligence agencies for their most valued operatives.

Along with the aliases came multiple bank accounts set up at several banks world wide, allowing him access to funds that could facilitate his work without blowing his cover.

Alex had already chosen his alias for the operation. He would be playing the role of the Serbian terrorist Vukasin Pedragović, illegitimate son of the former head of the Serbian secret police and known widely in criminal circles as the Dragon. It was the same identity that he had been using in the Balkans only months earlier.

Pedrag Milosović's numerous exploits with women during his reign of terror were well known, adding plausibility to Vukasin's paternal claims while explaining why his mother's identity was unknown. Although he was young, Vukasin took after his absent father in his power and taste for brutality and was a cunning strategist. His knack for inciting terror soon landed him as lead transitory advisor to a group of Serbian extremists known as Pomoćnia, "Black Nightshade." Although his reputation and heritage caused him to rise quickly through the ranks and put him in the spotlight of the world terrorist organizations, Vukasin preferred to remain on the shadowy periphery of the world stage, never declaring loyalty to a single organization and going wherever he his services could be best used. Vukasin's appearances were sporadic; he would come out of obscurity for an operation and then not be heard from until months later—you didn't go to the Dragon, the Dragon came to you.

The Dragon was the ideal legend for the assignment since he would not look out of place in a government complex full of terrorists and totalitarian leaders, in fact, it was the kind of operation that it was expected he came out of obscurity for. Only days earlier, Serbia had merged with the N-USSR and the leaders of Pomoćnia were present as part of the Serbian delegation; it made sense that he would at least be present in an advisory capacity. More importantly, the alias would allow him to roam the government complex, aptly named the Chambers of the Union of Communist Nations or CUCN, without suspicion.

Alex entered the safe house and nodded greetings to several members of the team that had already returned. He made his way to the kitchen and retrieved his files and computer from a safe that was hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets. He spread the files over the table and booted up the computer, eager to see if the code breakers had made any progress on the e-mails. He frowned when he read the report. It was one of the most complex codes they had ever seen. No headway was being made and he didn't have time to try to do it himself. He resigned himself to the fact that they would be going into the situation relatively blind.

Alex sighed and leaned back in the rickety wooden chair. Between the encrypted calls and the coded e-mails, the West had no idea what was going on behind the scenes. They had no way to tell when the first attack would come or where it would come from, much less an exact date outside of Alex's projected two month time frame. Everything hung in a precarious balance and there was no telling what would be the trigger that finally let the nukes start flying. Alex pulled another stack of files on the various terrorist leaders that were known to be present towards him and began to read carefully though them. Every weakness would have to be exploited if they were going to make a difference.

***

A dark haired man stalked through the early morning mist towards the government chambers just outside the heart of Irkutsk. Dressed in the uniform of the militants of the Pomoćnia extremist group he blended in perfectly with the other officials of totalitarian regimes that trickled in and out of the vast building's guarded doors. His dark, shaggy brown hair hung into his eyes and dark, heavyset eyebrows were set over brooding, dark blue eyes. The youth's face was set into a loose scowl— an expression that was an attempt at neutrality but was insufficient to mask the infamous Balkan rage.

The young scowl deepened as he declared himself to the guardsmen in English, touched with a heavy Serbian accent, as Vukasin Pedragović, contract killer, tactician, and advisor to the Serbian delegation. The guard scanned the patch on the man's uniform and nodded silently, pointing in the direction of the Serbian offices.

Alex Rider made his way confidently though the maze of corridors that made up the CUCN as he approached the Serbian offices. The hair dye, contacts, permanent scowl, and the die that altered his skin color to mach the darker skin common in those of Baltic decent were enough to tweak his appearance and make him almost unrecognizable.

Alex heard a commotion at the far end of the corridor as he approached the Serbian offices, soon after, an older and rather rotund man in the Pomoćnia uniform barreled out into the corridor, looking around intently. He smiled when he caught sight of Alex and opened his arms wide in greeting. "Vukasin!" the leader of the terrorist group cried and it was apparent that the guards at the door had called ahead of him, "You came out of you're hidey hole just in time for out our greatest operation, I see." The older man laughed; despite his jolly behavior, the sound was dark and menacing. "The bastards of the West will be not be able to stop us this time." It was clear that the Serbian man was extremely happy with the way that events were panning out. Pomoćnia had led the government coup in Serbia, and the General was now the new leader of the nations communist government and a strong supporter of the N-USSR.

Alex nodded in stony silence, giving the terrorist Vukasin's well-known tightlipped smile. While others, such as the General— as Pomoćnia's leader was called— hid their true natures under a façade of friendliness, the Dragon didn't bother. He talked only when it was necessary and bowed to no one. His reputation for brutality and his skill in combat were enough to keep those who wished to exploit his services at bay.

"Ah, well make yourself at home," the General continued. "I have places to be right now, but you are free to look around. The others will be quite interested to know that you have arrived."

Alex nodded once again. He had been counting on this. The other operatives would have eyes ears on the political proceedings in the CUCN while his reputation as a stony, silent, and reclusive terrorist would give him access to the bowels of the building and no requirement to attend the Chamber meetings if he chose not to.

As the General disappeared around the corner, Alex made his way into the Serbian office and sat down. It would look less suspicious if he spent some time in the Serbian offices before he started walking around and it would give him time to refine his strategy, now that he had actually seen the inside the building. He knew that he would have to take the searches of the building slowly. Despite their urgency of the situation, jumping in too fast meant that he ran the risk of stirring awkward questions and the possibility of exposing his identity.

After twenty minutes of strategizing, Alex stood and strode purposefully out of the room, keeping the Dragon's permanently affixed scowl firmly on his face. It was important that his cover never slip since there was always a chance that those who either knew him as the fearsome terrorist, or had heard of him would see him in the halls. The layout and thoroughness of the buildings CCTV cameras was also unknown, as the cameras were one of many details that had been "forgotten" in the blue prints. Alex's decided course of action split the government building into sectors that he would explore over the course of the next five weeks—a time frame that would allow him to conduct thorough surveys of the area without arousing suspicion. His first area would be the wing where the offices for the Baltic nations were being held, while he would make a brief appearance of some sort at the Chamber meetings and "visiting" past contacts who were present the following day as might be expected of someone in his position.

Alex walked through the deserted corridors of the building, taking note of any suspicious places or activity and filing the information away for use in later searches. For the most part, the offices of the various countries represented by the N-USSR were, at first glance, devoid of suspicious or criminal evidence and Alex had a feeling that it would remain that way. The layout of the building was fairly simple; the Chambers of Meeting occupied the majority of the ground floor while the individual offices for the nations represented in the N-USSR were located on the second, third, fourth, and fifth floors of the government complex. Kuznetsov's office and ANWOCS headquarters were located on the sixth floor and Alex also suspected that he would find several Scorpia executives lingering around the new dictator's office, influencing his decisions.

After about three hours of wandering, the sound of rumbling voices and thundering feet from the floors below warned Alex that the assembly that had been taking place in the "Unity Chambers," as they were being called, had come to and end, and he began making his way back to the Serbian offices from the fifth floor, passing several "clients" from former jobs on his way. Those that he encountered greeted him respectfully as he passed while attempting to subtly keep their distance. Alex nodded curtly in response, keeping the murderous scowl affixed to his face, but inside he was mildly amused at how grown men, many of whom were classified as some of the worlds worst people, could shy away from the power and temper of the Dragon. They seemed to forget that the Serbian terrorist was merely twenty-four years old.

Alex quickly reached the Serbian offices and slipped into the General's private room without bothering to knock. The older man was standing by his second-storey window watching the protests that had begun over the course of the morning just outside the gates of the fortified building. He watched the confrontation between the people and the ANWOCS forces unfold as if he were watching a sporting match rather than a violent clash between civilians and an armed terrorist army, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He was less jolly than he had been during their meeting earlier in the day but his body language was peaceful, as if he were satisfied by the events that unfolding around the globe. He turned and smiled faintly at Alex as he let the door clicked shut behind him.

"Ah, Vukasin," he sighed. "As always, you have chosen the right time to make yourself known. How you have such good intuition has always been a puzzle, but enough of that. We stand on the brink of a new world order. Soon the filthy capitalists of the West will fall, and we will have the mastery after so many years of defeat." He motioned for Alex to sit down as he settled into his own chair across the desk from him, sipping generously at his whiskey. He offered Alex a drink, but the spy refused, keeping his features stone cold.

"You have faith in Kuznetsov's plans then?" Alex enquired in Serbian. His tone was short and rough, menacing even at the best of times. "I hope that he does not believe that out dated Cold War tactics will suffice if he is to win this time around."

"Ah, but this time we have grater might behind us, and greater will," the General replied. "We will not be so willing to make deals this time, or let small issues of nuclear destruction hinder us. Kuznetsov has laid his plans well in a level of detail and thoroughness that even _you_ would commend. His leadership will not fail us."

Alex nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed in appropriate skepticism. "We shall see," he said. "If you are right then we may find ourselves in positions of much greater power very soon."

***

The Spec-ops team congregated in the small kitchen of the safe house at 2200 hours that night to report in on the events and progress that had been made during the course of the day. Alex knew that during the first few weeks of the operation, progress would be slow, the main objective being to use their aliases—almost all pre-existing legends—in order to integrate themselves into the political workings of the N-USSR without raising suspicion. While their chosen alias's would mean that this integration would largely be accelerated, a it would take least a month for those who were there to accept their presence and facilitate their integration into the new governments day-to-day workings. Each of the team members had made contact with nations or terrorist groups that they had already established relationships with, preparing the way for the seeds of discord to be sown.

Alex spent the majority of the night re-reading files and continuing to work on trying to crack the encrypted files on his computer. The code breakers that were working on the e-mails had still made no headway, and Alex spent some time studying them himself in order to see if he could use his knowledge of the organizations that they were facing in order to crack it. Unfortunately, despite his efforts, he was having just as much trouble deciphering the code as the cryptanalysts back at headquarters, and, in his need to prioritize, he had very little time that he could spare for such a complex pattern. The majority of the team had gone to sleep and Alex sat alone in the kitchen, bathed in the yellow glow of the single lamp hanging over the small wooden table.

Alex heard feet was a shuffling softly in the hallway and soon after Ben stepped into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes in reaction to the sudden increase in light from the shadowy grey of the hall. Edward followed him into the room soon after. Ben's eyes skimmed over the files and equipment strewn across the table and the open laptop, which was running through a series of programs. Edward studied Alex closely as the spy sat with his feet propped up on the edge of the table as he read carefully through Kuznetsov's file. The young spy merely glanced at him as Ben took a seat across the table from him, the chair scraping gratingly against the linoleum floor as it was pulled it out while Edward chose to lean against the refrigerator. Ben reached over and grabbed his own pile of files to study and the two of them worked in comfortable silence as Edward looked on. Alex wasn't fooled. It was evident that they were double teaming him.

"Do you ever sleep?" Ben asked finally, breaking the quiet that enveloped the safe house. "Seriously, Cub, we've been here nearly four days and no one's actually seen you sleep yet. It can't be healthy."

"I never get more than six hours a night on assignment," Alex replied, not taking his eyes off the files in front of him, "Usually less. I don't even use the bed while I'm on a job— comfort gets you killed. Besides, with everything that's riding on the outcome of this assignment it's hardly a good idea to let my subconscious take control."

The two men frowned at Alex, concern etched into their expressions. "That's not a good thing," Edward said. "I thought that you had gotten the nightmares under control years ago."

Alex sighed and set down the stack of files that he had been reading through. There was a dull clunk as his feet hit the floor and he spread his arms palm down on the table, as he finally looked his comrade directly in the eye. "Look at this situation Guys," he said. "I'm no stranger to high stress, high danger situations, but this… this is something else. Were talking about most serious situation since the end of the Cold War to have the potential to develop into the beginning of World War III, and the Western leaders have laid the responsibility for it all on our—though mostly _my_—shoulders. Were fighting against the most ruthless people on the planet—people that are not as reluctant to start dropping bombs as their predecessors were. Not only that, but this also represents a partnership between _all_ of my most formidable adversaries, who are hell bent on making sure that their victory includes ending my life this time around. For the next couple of months, I'm going to walk into the lion's den _every fucking day_. The majority of the people who want me dead are working in that building right now, one wrong move, one word out of character, and _I am a dead man_. And to add on to this clusterfuck of a situation, one of the people in this world that I care about most has been kidnapped by terrorists for the _second_ time in her life in order to get to me, leaving me more emotionally tied to a situation than I have been since the beginning of my career at MI6! I don't _let_ myself feel all the stress during the day—I wouldn't be able to function if I did—but there's _no way_ that it won't manifest itself the moment I let go of the smallest amount of control. For all my reputation, I'm still _human,_ and I have very real limits. You have no idea how close this situation is to _breaking_ me."

The two men were stunned into silence at Alex's outburst as they carefully studied the spy's drawn and tired expression. Alex was never a man of many words, but it was clear in his momentary vulnerability, that the stress from the high stakes situation that they had found themselves in was waiting for the smallest of lapses in control to swallow him whole. _Anyone else would have crumbled under the pressure by now, _Edward thought. It was a miracle that even Alex, a seasoned operative unparalleled in success and ability, had not yet cracked. It was a testament to his mental strength and self will that he could continue to have such unyielding control over himself. None of the rest of them could have achieved that level of control, more proof of why Alex was rightfully the best in the world at what he did.

Yet at the same time, they understood what Alex was saying. It was almost impossible for those who worked with Alex to see the man behind the miracle worker, but he wasn't God, and Alex was reminding them of that fact.

Ben nodded in understanding while Edward sighed quietly in defeat, both of them still contemplating the effects of the situation and their implications, as they settled down to join Alex as he pored through copious amounts of data at their disposal.

***

Alex returned to the Serbian offices of the CUCN early the next morning and spent several hours gleaning some of the finer details of the situation from the General. He was slightly perturbed however, that he was one of the issues at the forefront of the general's mind, as well as one of the many "kinks," as the General called it, in Kuznetsov's carefully laid plans that was to be "worked out" soon. He sat quietly, leaning back in his chair across from the General in a casual, but still authoritative and intimidating manner, as the General ranted about the thorn in their side that was Alex Rider.

"That _spy_ has been the bane of too many carefully laid plans," the Serbian spat with venom. "He's managed to evade every attempt to assassinate him since he first started pissing people off years ago. It's time for that to come to an end! Something is going to have to be done about that Rider scum. You know, only months ago Scorpia sent a squad of _twenty_ of their best assassins to take him out and the bastard managed to incapacitate or kill all of them and kill _both _of the executive board members that were present?" The General shook his head, trying to hide his both his understandable worry and his secret glee. On one hand, Scorpia's latest failed attempt to take out the British spy had been especially humiliating, boosting the reputations of other terrorist groups and creating a sense of satisfaction among rival criminal organizations due to the crime syndicate's shortcomings. It showed, Alex noted, just how fickle the bonds between crime syndicates were. On the other hand, organizations across the board found Scorpia's latest failures worrying; Scorpia trained the best assassins in the world, and If they were so unsuccessful against Rider, then who would be when the spy had been trained in the arts of death, combat, and subterfuge by the very criminal organization that was desperate to destroy him?

The General chuckled as he broke out of his thoughts, pleased in his own way at the humiliations that the formidable paramilitary organization had been dealt. "Of course, it's one of the reasons that this is all happening now. Scorpia may be the best and most professional of us, but they are in desperate need of something to restore their tarnished reputation after all the damage that Rider has done. MI6 will be sending him in any day now, and everyone in this building is eager to shatter his _astounding _success rate to bits."

The terrorist leader's words were said with such venom that many of the most cold hearted men would have shied away from the General in that moment. Alex didn't so much as blink as he listened to the man rant about the problems that he was causing the world's terrorists, seeming unaffected by the many threats and heartfelt wishes to bring him to a slow and painful death. It wasn't news to him that the majority of the people in the building were itching for the chance to get their hands on him and, as Vukasin, he had heard many different terrorists express their wishes to end his life. He stared steadily at the General as the man moved about the room, a slight scowl on his face, but kept his demeanor otherwise disinterested, as if Alex Rider posed no threat to him. He paid more attention though as the General continued.

"We have the upper hand against Rider this time though," the man sneered in satisfaction. "What with his _little girlfriend_ locked up in the command wing." He continued with a dark laugh, not knowing that he had just given Alex _exactly_ the kind of information he was looking for. It was obvious that Sabina was the "little girlfriend" that the General was referring to, and the way the man had referred to her location, Alex got the impression that the command wing was the smaller building that was attached to the CUCN.

Finally, the General took a deep breath as he reached the end of his rant and stopped pacing the room. "But enough of that," he said, his voice the picture of calm, though Alex could tell it was false. "It is time for the nations of our glorious N-USSR to gather in the Chambers of Unity to discuss the finer points of our plan and our new nation's policy. Will you be attending?"

"We'll see," Alex answered. "I have other business to attend to first." He watched as the General nodded in understanding and left the room. He waited a few minutes before he too stood up and exited the office.

***

Two hours later, Alex had finished a thorough, yet discreet search of the first sector of the second floor. He had stopped in several of the offices of past "clients" finding it easier to search the area while the leaders were at the assembly meetings. The lower level officials were too intimidated to question him, and his reputation kept suspicion off him. He left the offices, instructing the assistants who were present to notify their leaders that he had stopped by, adding validity to his presence and subtly indicating that he would be back to meet with them.

With the search completed, Alex made his way to the Chambers of Meeting in his assured and silent stride. He slowed as he entered the lobby on the first floor and quietly opened the door that lead to the balcony that overlooked the assembly room.

The rumble of voices, which had been muffled outside in the lobby increased in volume as Alex made his way to the edge of the balcony and observed the scene below. The chamber room had originally been the center of both Irkutsk's and the province's governing body before Kuznetsov and the ANWOCS forces had carried out their coup. It was a large, circular room, with rows of seating set in stadium style rising in an open circle, facing the chairman's—or in the case of the N-USSR, dictator's— panel on the ground level in front of the rows where the representatives sat. All in all, it was set up very similarly to the Senate chambers in the United Sates, though the sentiments of democracy and equality that most communists seemed to stick to, and which the chamber had formerly represented, were false.

Alex stood in the shadows of one of the posts that supported the balcony that overlooked the chamber, his figure hidden by the thick, red velvet curtain that hung there, tied elegantly to the post. Similar adornments were present throughout the rest of the room, drawing attention to Kuznetsov's lavish tastes. The representatives of the different states of the N-USSR were locked in a heated debate as Kuznetsov and his panel looked on silently in mild amusement. He and his council would have the final say, regardless of what the rest of the representatives agreed upon.

Alex listened closely to the murmur of voices, trying to decipher individual sentences and phrases from the general din. He began to understand what was shaping up to be such a controversial issue when he deciphered a handful of words, namely "kill," "Rider," and "threat," from the babble of angry voices below. Alex smirked in amusement. It appeared that they all had very different ideas of what to do to him when he was found. He shrank further into the shadows and listened harder as a single voice rose above the general noise. It was reedy and old, but there was an unmistakable edge of malice that was guaranteed to send shivers down the spines of the most hardened soldiers.

"The Dragon is among us," its owner called, causing the rest of the assembly to go silent.

Alex stiffened, believing he had been discovered in his perch on the balcony. It took him a second to realize that the man who had spoken was referring to his general presence in Russia and he relaxed. The man stood, and Alex confirmed what he had already suspected from the sound of the man's voice: he was Lee Hye Geun, A rogue army general from South Korea. Geun had been instrumental in the fall of South Korea to communism during their coup, which had taken place only days before. His withered and wrinkled skin was covered in sunspots and his frame seemed shrunken in his perfectly tailored navy blue suit. His appearance was deceiving though, for Alex knew that he was especially strong and ruthless for a man his age. Cold, calculating eyes glinted menacingly out from behind his wire-framed glasses that sat on his bald head as he surveyed the room.

"Among us he is certainly counted as the most ruthless and skilled fighter; a brilliant strategist that never steers wrong. Would it not make sense to send our best to dispatch Rider?"

Silence enveloped the assembly room for a moment as the other leaders considered Geun's proposal. After a few moments the General spoke up uncertainly. "There is no guarantee that he would take up the challenge. In fact, he seems most disinterested in the threat posed by Rider, aware that he has nothing to either gain or loose by the boy's demise and very little to fear from him. Rider is quite possibly the only person on Earth who has a hope of holding his own against the Dragon, and yet, I believe that even then there would be little chance of the spy winning. But he will not give into your request as if it is an obligation to our new country, for he is his own master and spends his loyalty where he pleases." The assembly lapsed back into silence as each of the leaders considered both sides of the proposal. Low murmurs soon broke out as they began to debate among each other.

Alex leaned against the shadowed pillar, contemplating what he would do if he were asked to undertake the directive. His lips twitched slightly at the irony of the situation; they were blindly asking him to kill himself. He soon came to the decision that it was best to make the request conditional— to make him seem like a last resort. It would simultaneously validate his cover and increase their trust in him while freeing him from the immediate obligation and awkward questions that would arise when it seemed that he was making little progress.

Kuznetsov seemed to have come to his own decision in the time that it took Alex to think the situation through. A malevolent smile crossed his face as he raised his voice above the murmurs of the other representatives. "Then you will be the one to ask him, dear General," he said, causing the assembly to quiet down immediately. "You seem to know him best, do what you can to persuade him that our request for his services is genuine." Kuznetsov smirked evilly as he saw the apprehension on the General's face. Despite the fact that the General acted as though he and Vukasin were close, he was, with reason, still afraid of the young Serbian man.

Alex slowly stalked out into the open, leaning his hands against the rail of the balcony as he surveyed the people below; it was a sight to behold— the scum of the world all gathered together in the same place. "There's no need," he said in English, modulating his voice with a heavy Serbian accent.

The attention of every person in the room snapped to his position high above them. Most looked at him in apprehension, anxious about how he would respond to the request, while others looked upon him in visible fear.

"It seems odd though, that this assembly would request this of me when word has spread that Scorpia already has plans in place to bring about the Rider boy's demise," Alex continued. "Is that not why you kidnapped his girlfriend?" he asked ironically. Dull murmurs of assent ran through the assembly, but Alex didn't pause as the tension in the room mounted. "It's true that in past occasions no one has been successful in silencing Rider, but I will not step in unless Scorpia's latest plans fail. I have other things to do besides take on the pathetic role of this new Union's hit man."

Alex left the balcony swiftly after the abrupt end of his declaration, leaving the assembly in a shocked state of silence behind him. His promises were purposely vague, but it would be enough to keep the leaders off his back and fearful of the Dragon's legendary temper. He turned over a small camera that he held in his hands as he stalked though the corridors to the Serbian offices.

Alex had used his time on the balcony to covertly take pictures of as many of the people present as he could, but as he scrolled through the photos, there were a few recognizable faces that immediately caught his attention. The last photo was a close up of Kuznetsov and his panel in their seats on the floor of the assembly hall. There were three of them— sitting on either side of Kuznetsov, and Alex had instantly recognized them as Vladimir Milanković, Peter Ivanov, and Rose Baldwin: three of Scorpia's seven remaining board members.

**(1) Lima-Zulu= LZ or Landing Zone in NATO alphabet call signs. Each letter is distinguished by a unique word. You probably already know a couple of them; **

**Alpha(A), Bravo(B), Charlie(C), Delta(D), Echo(E), Foxtrot(F), Golf(G), Hotel(H), India(I), Juliet(J), Kilo(K), Lima(L), Mike(M), November(N), Oscar(O), Papa(P), Quebec(Q), Romeo(R), Sierra(S), Tango(T), Uniform(U), Victor(V), Whiskey(W), X-Ray(X), Yankee(Y), Zulu(Z)**

**So Romeo-Victor is RV or Rendezvous and so on….**

**Other Terms: Klik= Kilometer, Tab= tactical advancement on foot, Mike (as in "four mikes")= mile, Net= radio channel... I think that covers all the ones I used....**

**(2) Black Phone: ****A satellite encryption phone. Built with a microchip containing an encryption algorithm. The chip makes it impossible to tap lines since the algorithm used to scramble the signal is not transmitted with it and the scrambling pattern is different with every call.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	7. Part VI: Recon

**Thank you all again for all of the great reviews!**

**In response to an anonymous review on the Canadian intelligence service: For a moment, I thought that research had failed me! But it turns out, were _both_ right. The SCRS is the French version of the acronym, and CSIS is the English version, but it's the same agency. Thanks for pointing it out though, double checking is always a good thing.**

**Thank you to Ichihime for enlightening me on the UK's current system for ranking threats to national security. I will be going back to make the necessary changes, even if DEFCON sounds cooler. :)**

**I've also made a few other changes to a couple of previous chapters, nothing serious, but I felt that they were ones that need to be made for reasons of clarity. I'm also still working on the companion piece, but I've got so much homework right now. I need to find a solid block of time where I can just sit down and crank it out. **

**Anyway, on to the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough said.**

Part VI: Operation Stage II: Recon

The spec-ops team started to sow the beginnings of conflict a month-and-a-half after their arrival, each member beginning to slowly spread whispers among their contacts concerning the clandestine objectives of the others. They played off the secret fears and desires of each member state, alluding to nebulous plans to gain power by targeting rivals, that could be neither satisfactorily confirmed or denied, nor traced back to their source. Out of the growing rumor mill, the team would select a few of the created plots to focus on. By covertly bringing a few of the rumors into actuality and being sure that the incident would incriminate certain parties, they would create discord among the terrorist groups, playing off the fickleness of alliances made in crime.

Alex was usually the one to carry out the culmination of the plots that had been selected for actualization. His position granted him freer movement around the CUCN building without suspicion than the others who had embedded themselves within strategically important offices, and his authority and temper would keep people from asking questions anyway. This objective was helped along by a multitude of miniaturized high explosives and other devices that had been supplied by Smithers, allowing Alex to place them in the appropriate offices with out suspicion being directed at him.

Two months into the active stage of the operation, the team was once again gathered in the safe house's small kitchen. Alex had finished off his final search of the CUCN building only hours before and found nothing suspicious aside from a single door placed at the end of a deserted corridor on the first level, though its purpose had been reasoned out earlier that day. There had been several tense moments as he often used his searches to lay the groundwork for the team's plots, but the most nerve-wracking experiences had occurred when he had reached the sixth floor.

Alex had met with Kuznetsov face to face as part of his intelligence gathering objective, learning more about Scorpia's plot to kill him and Sabina's general location. He was able to puzzle together a respectable amount of information from Kuznetsov's allusions, learning that the attached building housed Scorpia's base of operations and was where all of the real decisions concerning the objectives of the N-USSR were made. The attached building also seemed to house living quarters for the highest-ranking officials and was the most likely place that Sabina would be kept. Alex had filed away all the new knowledge that he had gleaned to contemplate at a later time, but he was now certain that the attached building was the "command wing" that the General had alluded to on his second day.

While he was on Kuznetsov's home turf, Alex had to work harder than ever to keep his cover firmly in place. The top level was swarming with Scorpia assassins and some of his most formidable enemies from other criminal organizations; the chances that he would be discovered were quite high.

The meeting was particularly stressful since it forced Alex to dance the fine line between giving the Russian enough viable intelligence and advice to make his cover believable without being detrimental to his objective and the countries he and his team were working to protect. The situation had also pushed his cover to the limits; he had to worry about the threat posed by meeting people who knew him well from past operations as Alex Rider or another alias, rather than Vukasin "the Dragon" Pedragović.

Alex's disguise changed his features enough that the likeness between the Dragon and himself was not apparent unless one looked for it. However it was far from impenetrable and there had been moments where things had been touch-and-go. At one point, he had come face to face with Scorpia executive board member Vladimir Milanković when the Serbian had stepped into Kuznetsov's office for a few words, and in that moment it had taken everything he had to keep the cold, ruthless demeanor of the Dragon in tact. His fervently hoped that his disguise would hold up to the man's intense scrutiny, and there were a few tense moments when Milanković seemed to be suspicious of his identity. A nebulous recognition seemed to float just out of reach in the terrorist's mind, visible as a fleeting gleam in his eyes, but the Serbian executive board member had shaken it off; after all, there were logical reasons why Alex and the Dragon were similar in cold personality and fighting ability—with both of them entering the world of violence and deceit at such young ages, there were bound to be noticeably similar effects.

Although he had been outwardly cold and confident as his alias required, Alex had been anxious to wrap up his search of the sixth floor and get back to the safe house. His nerves were frayed from his venture into the heart of the proverbial lion's den, but he remained impassive as he waited for Kuznetsov to come back from his quick talk with Milanković. He was immediatly suspicious when the former KGB director offered to walk down to the first floor after wrapping up his quiet conversation with the Serbian man, but as the Dragon, he had not been in a position to refuse. If Milanković had actually recognized him and his cover had been blown it was possible that he was walking into a trap, but it was obvious that he would have to go into it willingly. It was also equally possible that there was nothing to worry about, but Alex refused to take chances. He remained alert, ready for the first sign of attack as he strode through the halls with the dictator, his silent strides at odds with the Russian's loud footsteps.

In the end, Alex had been rewarded for his troubles when Kuznetsov came to a halt at the entrance to the deserted dead-end corridor that had raised Alex's suspicions when he had taken note of it the week before.

"Well, Vukasin," Kuznetsov had sighed. "This is where I will leave you. Again I must tell you that you're doing us a great service with your presence and I hope that this can be the beginning of a long partnership."

Alex nodded coldly, his mouth set in as straight line and the Russian almost seemed to shift uncomfortably for a moment under his glare, unsure of the meaning of Alex's reaction. The moment of uncertainty quickly passed and he gave the Serbian youth a curt nod and strode down the corridor towards the door.

When he had examined the door weeks before, Alex had discovered that it was constructed of reinforced steel and a close look at the handle had told him that it was print sensitive. There was a single keypad set into the wall next to the door and two CCTV cameras kept constant watch on the area. Alex watched as the Russian punched a code into the keypad and a small window opened up in the wall just above it. A retina scanner slid out of the opening and Kuznetsov stood still for a moment as the machine took an extremely detailed picture of his the back of his eye and compared it to the one stored in the security database. After a couple of seconds, a green light blinked and the Russian was allowed to pass through.

From his vantage point at then end of the corridor, Alex caught sight of a hallway on the other side of the door, and his suspicions that the door led to the smaller attached building on the CUCN property was confirmed.

That night, Alex was the last to arrive back at the safe house, as his meeting with the Russian dictator had ended long after the new government's normal hours of operation. He slipped silently through the front door and into the kitchen, where the rest of the team was waiting, and sat down heavily in the wooden chair that the team had saved for him. Over the past weeks it had been unofficially dubbed as his chair, since he spent most nights sitting in it reviewing plans and files. As far as everyone else knew, he slept in it to.

Alex leaned his head back and groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose while the team watched apprehensively, unsure of what had happened.

Nicole Wright broke the tension by shoving a bowl of reheated stew in front of Alex. "How did the meeting with Kuznetsov go?" she asked. "We have to send a report to operation headquarters in Germany tonight. We'll be ready for the final act in about a month, but we need to know where you stand."

"Thanks, Nicole," Alex sighed as he pulled the bowl of stew towards him, "I know where they're keeping her—and where he and the board members sleep for that matter, but the security on the attached building is tight. I still need to find a way in. I'm just glad that's over with. You have _no idea_ how close I came to blowing my cover today. Hell, I looked _Milanković_ right in the eye and I swear he was suspicious for a second. I thought I was a dead man."

The others shifted uneasily for a moment before Nicole's Canadian partner, Colden Murray, spoke up. "You don't think he'll do anything do you?" he asked apprehensively. Alex's alias was the key to the operation's success and it wouldn't bode well for it to come crashing down when they had nearly achieved their objective.

"No," Alex said, "If he was truly suspicious he would have said something right then, but there are a million reasons for Alex Rider and Vukasin Pedragović to be so similar. It's part of what makes the alias so believable." The others sighed in relief at Alex's assessment and the group turned to planning the final round of incidents that they had fabricated to create unrest among the representative nations. Already, with several bombings and chemical incidents happening in various offices, the representatives were beginning to turn on each other and the once smoothly running government body was breaking down into chaos. Tensions were mounting as nations became more distrustful and belligerent towards other nations in the newly reunited and expanded Eastern Bloc and the situation was fast approaching its breaking point. Very little more stimulation would be needed before it was ready to erupt. If they waited any more than a month before they made the final move then the situation was likely to become so volatile that it would be impossible for them to continue to control it.

ASIS operative Guy Hawthorne, who had taken control of planning which rumors the team would bring to actuality, spread a series of files across the table, each documenting a different plot spread by the various members of the team. He pointed out two of the files and Alex studied them as the Australian agent began speaking.

"As you know, we don't need much more to happen over at the CUCN before the situation reaches its breaking point, so these two should suffice. The first was put into circulation by Granger in the Hungarian office and involves the poisoning of a couple of their higher rank officials by the Romanians. Stirring up the rage that the Balkans are famous for is bound to bring the situation to boiling point as fast as possible and will solidify the divisions that we've managed to create among the nations in that area. As you know, the Romanians have had a relatively important role in the planning of the overall situation we're in right now; their leader is a very close friend of Kuznetsov's—a fact that will add to the instability caused by this incident."

Alex pulled the two files across the table as Guy continued to talk. His eyes flickered briefly over the first file, before the Australian spook diverted his attention to the second.

"The second rumor was spread by Knight and is more involved since it's spread through the majority of the member nations. We've been playing up the greed and belligerence of the Chinese for the past weeks since we're going to be pinning the final stage of the operation on them. As the second largest state of the N-USSR, they have a fair amount of power, but with the dictatorial situation as it is, it's plausible, as it is with every nation, that there is a distinct lust for more. This operation involves planting small explosive charges in several of the offices of the smaller nations and one or two of the larger ones. It'll give us a nice set up for the end of the month."

Alex nodded slowly to convey his understanding as he examined the files, still eating slowly as he mentally compiled a list of the equipment that he would need to use for each of the operations and decided how, when each operation would take place and who would be the specific target or targets. He sighed inwardly as he read over the details, just as he did every time he was handed a briefing of a similar nature.

While the methods that the team was using for the operation were certainly effective, they also made him slightly uncomfortable. On many occasions it seemed that their tactics were frighteningly similar to the methods of the terrorists that they devoted their lives to fighting, and though he had to admit that that was the point since they were pinning the incidents on various terrorist groups, Alex didn't like the idea of fighting terror with terror. He knew that in doing so, the chances of becoming what you hated most in the process were high.

He also knew that in a in a situation with stakes as high as the ones they were facing, moral sacrifices had to be made and, unfortunately for Alex, the format of the operation meant that he was the one making most of those sacrifices.

Alex gave no indication that he was thinking about the moral paradoxes of the operation as he continued to read the files carefully, his expression remaining devoid of emotion. He could already feel himself slipping into the cold, calculative mindset that he had been taught to use by Scorpia as he prepared himself to do his task, essentially letting himself slip into the psychological state of the killer that they had tried to make out of him. It was ironic, he thought, that he would essentially become "Scorpia's Alex" when he made a deliberate and premeditated hit and became the heartless assassin that he had been trained to be. It was a very different mindset than "Agent Alex" who, while still not adverse to killing, thought about justice and morals, or just plain "Alex Rider" who was biting and sarcastic, but more restrained. He had often thought that anyone who knew that he compartmentalized the different facets of his psyche this way would think that he had a multiple personality disorder.

Alex quickly finished devising a timeframe in which to carry out the two plots. The first of the two, which targeted the Romanians, could be carried out in the coming week. It wouldn't be hard to get his hands on some Cyanide or Digitalis or another poison in the shadier parts of the city, but he would have to be careful about how he distributed it. The second plot on the other hand. Would require some of Smithers' modified micro-explosives. He could plant some of the specially designed charges throughout some of the offices he visited over the course of the month to be detonated at will.

Although he was focused on his work, Alex was most worried about Sabina. She had already been in captivity for a little over three months and he had heard very little about her condition. He knew from Kuznetsov that she was still alive, but very little beside that. If it hadn't been for the delicacy of the situation and the slow gathering of relevant intelligence, he probably would have moved in to extract her long before, but he couldn't without triggering detrimental effects to the larger operation. Every day that Sabina spent in the hands of Scorpia equated to thousands of chances to torture and kill her, and as the days slipped by he agonized over the fact that by the time he got to her, it was likely that there wouldn't be much of her left.

The complexity of the situation meant that Alex looked ahead at the coming week with expertly concealed feelings of reluctance and relief. He had made more moral concessions in the past month than he had in the entirety of the rest of his life, but now, the end was in sight.

Alex finally pushed away the empty bowl of stew and shoved his chair backwards, causing the wooden legs to grate uncomfortably against the linoleum floor. He stood abruptly and headed towards the bathroom at the end of the short hall.

"It seems that I have some work to do tonight," he called over his shoulder. I'll carry out Granger's plans at the beginning of next week but I'll need some supplies. Don't wait up; I don't know how long this is going to take." Several minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom dressed in nondescript civilian clothing and while his hair and skin was still colored in the dark browns of the Dragon's, he had removed the contacts, returning his eyes to their usual serious brown. He tucked one of his Sigs into the waistband of his faded jeans and threw on a jacket as he walked out the door.

***

Alex walked into the CUCN building Tuesday of the following week ready to begin the end of the second stage of the operation. He had been out most of the night after the status update meeting seeking out contacts in the shadier parts of Irkutsk and had eventually managed to obtain more than enough VX nerve gas in its liquid form to suit his purposes.

Once a much more widely used poison known under the British Rainbow Code as _Purple Possum_, VX was odorless and tasteless, making it virtually impossible to detect. It was so potent that tactile exposure to ten milligrams was fatal; those who were exposed to it became paralyzed and died from asphyxiation. Since 1997 worldwide efforts had been put in place to destroy stockpiles of the chemical weapon, but it was still readily available on the black market if you knew where to look and the Hungarian terrorist organization that was now in control of the country's government was famous for using it.

While his other objective was secondary at the moment, Alex had already started laying the groundwork for it. Everyday, he would carry several of Smithers' specialized micro-explosives concealed in one of the many pockets of his camouflage combat fatigues. They were made of an extremely efficient high explosive known as red mercury—a compound that was exponentially more powerful than C-4.

Since his alias was not permanently attached to any country or terrorist organization, Alex had plenty of time to make his rounds through the building. It seemed reasonable for someone in his position to frequently find his way into the other offices, rarely giving advice, but listening closely to all that was said. He only stopped into the Serbian offices so frequently because of his cover identity's notions of national allegiance and his ties to their leader, the General.

Line on any other day, Alex checked in at the Serbian office, stopping to speak with the General for a few minutes before he started his rounds of the building. The representatives from the other nations had soon gotten used to him stalking through the halls as he willed, his permanent scowl etched onto his face. Even though everyone had become more suspicious of the intensions of everyone else due to the events that had been taking place over the past couple of weeks, no one dared question his sudden appearances and disappearances—they knew that they were lucky that the Dragon had come out of seclusion in the first place and they were placated as long as he kept his word to deal with Alex Rider should Scorpia's plans fail.

Alex planned to meet with the Romanian officials before lunch so that he knew that they would be adjourning to their usual closed door meeting shortly after he had finished hearing them out. The meeting, which had been requested by their top official, two weeks prior, provided the perfect opportunity to bring Aldridge's rumors to actualization. Since no one would bother the higher-level officials for at least an hour and a half as they discussed what positions their nation would take on various issues during the closed-door lunch, there would be plenty of time to make sure the poison took its full effect. Alex knew from experience that the Romanians traditionally drunk whiskey during their lunch meetings and that the Hungarians has been meeting with the Romanians over the past week, attempting to tamp down the rumors that were being spread—in fact, a Hungarian representative had been in the Romanian office earlier that day, but as always negotiations were now laced with hardly concealed suspicion. He also knew that the Hungarian ambassador's drink of choice was vodka, rather than the whiskey that the Romanians preferred. If everything went off without a hitch, it would look as if the Hungarian ambassador was the guilty party and that he had avoided the whiskey during negotiations due to his knowledge of what had been added to it.

The head Romanian official greeted Alex as entered the state's office shortly before noon. He nodded his head curtly in response to the pleasantry but did not lighten the Dragon's ever-present frown. The small and withered Romanian man shifted uncomfortably under his cold gaze before he ushered Alex into the conference room, his bald head shining in the light. Like many of the older terrorist leaders, Alex knew that the Romanian's withered façade concealed a hardened warrior, still sound in body and mind. If that hadn't been the case, then the small man would have been usurped long ago.

Alex stalked confidently into the conference room and sat down in the chair at the head of the long table, silently reminding the Romanian officials that he was there on his terms and was in no way subordinate to their authority. The others took seats at the other side of the long table, leaving a wary distance between them and him. The sat there in silence for a moment before Alex raised his eyebrows, conveying an extreme amount of menace for such a small gesture.

"Well,' he said in thickly accented English, "start talking before you waste any more of my time."

A collective shiver ran through the Romanian officials at the sound of the Dragon's ice-cold voice. They looked to their leader to begin the discussion. The withered man cleared his throat quietly, but Alex could see the steely glint return to the old man's eyes as he began to speak.

"For nearly two decades the leaders of the major terrorist organizations around the world, especially in eastern Europe and Asia have worked in secret to undo the damage that was done to our glorious communist state by bumbling idiots like Gorbachev and Schabowski. We did exceptionally well in keeping our objectives hidden from the West. Even _Alex Rider_," the man spat the name out with derision, "Despite having penetrated deeper into Scorpia than any other spy, knew nothing of the secret workings of the united criminal underworld." The man's spotted and wrinkled face twisted into a ghastly smile that was more of a grimace as he contemplated the fact that, at least in some respects, the terrorist organizations had managed to stay one step ahead of the renowned teenage spy. "We began to rally ourselves around Kuznetsov very early on. He had the money and the power, but most importantly, he had the plan— one that was not likely to fail. Kuznetsov's plan has worked flawlessly up to this point, but now, on the brink of the fruition of twenty years of planning, everything threatens to fall apart and we do not give our alliances to those too weak to finish what they have started when the time comes. The discord that has quickly come into being in our government has become a very real threat both to us and our objective."

Alex's face remained impassive as the Romanian leader came to the end of his speech. He surveyed the men across from him with cool disinterest; like all criminals, these ones were worried about covering their own asses if the plan went south. He leaned forward out of his relaxed posture, clasping his hands together and leaning his elbows on the table in front of him as his eyes bore into the small watery ones of the Romanian leader. "You requested an audience in order to determine the most likely out come of Kuznetsov's "great plan?"" he asked, though his words were more statement than question.

The Romanian representatives shrank back slightly into their seats at the unvoiced accusation—there were much better things that the Dragon could be doing in his spare time than running through the flaws and strengths of Kuznetsov's designs. If the Romanians had played a lesser part in the reunification of the Eastern Bloc, and—though they didn't know it—the fact that Alex had a job to do he wouldn't have granted their request at all, and now they were asking for advice that did little to take advantage of the strategic knowledge that the Dragon was allowing them access to.

In one quick movement, Alex pushed back his chair and fluidly rose from the chair. He made his way towards the bar that stood off to the side of the conference table, his relaxed gait menacing due to his utter distain for the subject of their talk that he exuded. He began speaking, his back turned to his audience as he reached the bar and began examining the various bottles of alcohol.

"It is true that Kuznetsov's empire stands on the edge of a knife," he mused, as he picked up the bottle of whiskey, niticing that was nearly three quarters full. He glanced over his shoulder to the Romanians as he unscrewed the cap before he turned his attention back to the bottle and poured a finger of the alcohol into a glass. "Up to this point, the plan has been exceptionally well though out, but these last stages are dependant on more than just carefully laid plans. At this point, it comes don to basic human greed." Alex replaced the top on the bottle of whiskey and moved back to his seat, tumbler in hand. He sat down leaning back in the chair and placing his booted feat on the table, yet another semi-covert sign that he recognized no authority but himself.

Not one of the officials dared to challenge him.

"However, not all is quite as hopeless as you seem to think. If the chambers can resolve their differences quickly, then Kuznetsov will have the mastery and the West will fall, but no progress will happen while the nations remain divided. Leave the bickering for when you have the world firmly ensconced in your iron fist or you won't succeed at all."

With that parting sentiment, Alex knocked back the rest of his whiskey, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, and departed swiftly from the room. His job was done, and in the mind of a surly Vukasin Pedragović, there would be nothing left to discuss. He slipped his hand into his pocket as he stepped out of the offices and back into the corridor, grasping the now empty vial that was hidden there. If anyone had bothered to check, they would have realized that the bottle of whiskey was still three quarters full.

***

Word of the poisoning of the Romanian officials spread quickly throughout the member states of the N-USSR the following day, and, as planed, the accusation fell immediately on the Hungarian regime. The bodies had not been discovered until late that evening since the low level officials who worked in the office had been reluctant to risk interrupting their superiors. Each official displayed signs of cyanosis—their skin taking on a light blue tinge, especially around the lips, and looks of extreme pain and suffering on their faces. The large amount of VX that Alex had added to the whiskey had ensured that death was swift, but it was by no means any less horrifying and as soon as the toxin had been identified, the accusations began to fly.

In the course of a single day, the tension and distrust that now permeated the CUCN had nearly doubled, bringing the situation dangerously close to its breaking point without any sign of resolution. The situation remained strained as January faded into February and Alex and his team got closer and closer to their extraction date.

Alex continued to use the Dragon's many meetings and wanderings to his advantage, discreetly placing grenades in the offices of nations that were some of China's greatest rivals, or those, who despite being no threat to such a large and powerful nation, had strongly voiced concerns about the China and its intentions. Alex discreetly pressed the detonator of each grenade into a specially shaped indent on the side of his watch to arm them and attached them to the underside of a desk or chair or in other discreet location in the room. Once they were primed, he could detonate them all simultaneously through the RF transmitter built into his watch whenever he was ready.

February 13th, Alex's eighteenth birthday passed without recognition or celebration other than the discerning gaze of the few of them who knew the significance of the date. To Alex, the day only marked another year for which he had managed to stay alive, but he pushed his thoughts aside as he prepared to spend the day among his enemies, attempting to stop a world war and searching for Sabina.

He finally detonated the explosive charges Wednesday afternoon, on the last week of the operation and by the end of the day the situation within the building was primed and ready to explode.

Phase Two was officially complete.

Alex left the CUCN that night amidst raging arguments that he observed coolly from the sidelines. The Dragon was above getting involved; he had chosen isolation and obscurity for a reason. Despite his relief that the second stage was complete, there was still a distinct tension that surrounded this stage of the operation. While he had made some headway over the past months in his efforts to find a way into the smaller building that was attached to the CUCN, he had yet to find a viable approach—a fact that he found worrying since stage three was set to happen in two days time.

Needless to say, that night's briefing had been anticipatory, but tense. Everyone was ready to go home. Being under cover for so long in a high stress environment was taxing and everyone was looking forward to being able to relax and let them selves breathe easy once again.

The other members of the team watched that night as Alex once again dove into the massive pile of files that they had been supplied with for the operation, looking for the security weakness and leaning the layout of the building as best he could from the incomplete blueprints. None of them doubted that he would find away in, they were more worried about that the operation was doing to his psychological and emotional state. Although he was a master at not showing his emotions, it was obvious that the operation had been extremely taxing. He was barely getting five hours of sleep a night and everyone in the house could hear the evidence of the vivid nightmares that had begun to plague him during the limited sleep that he did manage to get. They seemed to increase in intensity and frequency as the operation dragged on. No one ever mentioned them in the mornings, and as usual, the young spy managed to look as if he had gotten the most restful night's sleep of his life. Thankfully, no one seemed to be keen on deciphering the darkest corners of his psyche.

Wolf leaned against the counter in the small kitchen as Alex once again pored over the blueprints, looking for inconsistencies in the building design that could give him a hint as to what the contractor had deleted from the blue prints before they had been put on record. He wanted to be prepared for any possible unlisted security systems that the attached building might have. Finally Wolf had had enough. He sighed, pushing himself away from the counter and leaned over the table, his palms pressed flat on the top as he supported his weight on them. "You've been looking at that section of the prints for three hours now," he said frustrated. "It doesn't take a genius to notice that you're looking back and forth at a couple different spots and marking them up while muttering to yourself in Russian. Are you planning on filling the rest of us in on what you've found at any time in the near future?"

Alex glanced up from the document, his face betraying no reaction to Wolf's words. "I'm not entirely sure about what I've found yet," he sighed. "Though I have a feeling that getting in may not be quite as difficult as we've made it out to be." He glanced back down at the blue print and muttered something quietly in Russian before he sighed and set down the prints. "I just wish that we could get a better read on the security."

"If Kuznetsov hasn't let slip any information on the finer details of his security plan in the past couple of months, he's not going to in the next twenty-four hours," Bear pointed out.

"I know," Alex sighed. "And it's not worth blowing our cover to nail it down on our own, especially this late in the game. I have a pretty good idea of what he has in place, and it's not the worst infiltration scenario that I have found myself in, but given its delicacy, it would be better if we had more."

"What do you think they have in place?" Ben asked, knowing that the teenage spy had probably pieced together more than he was giving himself credit for.

"I'm thinking infrared," Alex said. "There is a distinct absence of visible security around the premises other than the guards and a couple of video cameras but we would be stupid to believe that that was all the security that they had, especially given how secure the door from the main building was. The windows on the lower floors are sure to be sealed shut and probably alarmed too as a precaution. I just have the feeling that they are trying to lull the prospective infiltrator into a false senesce of security before they tighten the noose."

"So IR beams?"

Alex nodded curtly as he continued to survey the blueprints. "On the roof and the lawns. It would explain the presence of several power lines that seem to have no purpose on the blueprints. I'm just hoping that there isn't much else."

The others nodded in agreement and they dispersed as the tactical meeting came to a close. Alex rubbed his eyes tiredly with the heels of his hands, the small gesture betraying the effects that the demands of the operation were having on him.

Snake watched as the young spy continued to sort through the files in front of him, laying aside the leads that had lead to dead ends as he worked to put the final pieces of the complex puzzle together. He let out a small sigh of his own which immediately caused Alex's head to snap in his direction. The young spy raised a single eyebrow in question as the unit medic returned to his seat at the kitchen table, his eyes skimming over the various documents that were spread out before him.

"You should get some sleep," he said quietly, knowing that his advice was likely to fall on deaf ears. "And I mean real sleep, not the excuse for it that you get in this chair every night."

A small smile twitched the corners of Alex's lips as he deciphered the tones of real concern in his comrade's voice. He knew that he had been steadily working himself into the ground from all of the pressure and urgency that had been caused by the operation, and, while he was used to functioning on little or no sleep, that even he had his limits.

"I know," he said, before he pushed off from the table and made his way towards the rickety staircase towards the end of the hall that lead to the safe house's upper levels grabbing a clean towel from a closet in the hall and stepping into the bathroom.

***

Steam billowed around Alex as the scalding water of the shower pounded down on his back. Alex stood naked under the spray, meticulously scrubbing away the die that had tinted his skin and hair for the past three-and-a-half months. Smithers had designed the dies that the agency used to come out only when washed with a specially formulated compound. He could literally _feel_ the last clinging tendrils of his cover's ice cold and decidedly violent personality seeping out of him as he watched the brown water swirl down the drain and for the first time since they had arrived, Alex felt that he didn't have to keep looking over his shoulder, waiting for his cover to be blown to smithereens.

Alex stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He carefully removed the blue contacts from his eyes and wiped the steam off of the mirror with his hand. His own haunted brown eyes stared back at him as he assessed his scarred and battered body in his reflection. Over the past three years he had had to put a sizeable amount of effort into hiding his body from the rest of the world, and there were times that he couldn't help but be disgusted by his appearance; usually when he was in one of his blacker moods where he let himself fall back into his old resentment about the turns that his life had taken. In was disturbing to think that his life as a spook had reduced him to nothing more than a file that, for all intents and purposes, didn't exist, and a growing collection of scars. He turned away from the mirror in mild revulsion and made his way to one of the empty bedrooms that branched off of the upstairs hall.

He didn't even bother to get under the covers before he flung himself down on the bed and immediately fell into the deepest sleep he had experienced in the last four weeks.

***

_A black haze impaired Alex's eyes as he ran through a maze of corridors. As far as he could tell, he was the only living person in the building and the eerie silence wrapped him like a suffocating blanket. He was searching for something, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what. A constant tugging at the edges of his subconscious tightened a knot in the pit of his stomach as he continued to wander the blank, doorless passageways and he could feel the beginnings of panic welling up inside him. He turned the nearest corner only to be faced with a dead end, the blank white wall imposing in its emptiness. He could feel his breathing begin to accelerate as he backtracked and he quickened his pace until he was flying through the corridors and around corners at a sprint. The tendrils of fog curled around him as he ran and he started to imagine ghostly hands and faces among the shifting mist—hands that clawed at him, pulling him deeper into his state of panic. He drew his gun that was safely holstered at his hip, but what good were bullets against the dead? He fell to his knees as the darkness engulfed his figure and threatened to swallow him whole. _

_Suddenly, the scene shifted and he was no longer in the directionless maze filled with the shadows of the dead, but in an excruciatingly familiar room. He was strung up by his arms, the chains only long enough to let his knees brush the floor, offering little support to his exhausted body. His feet were also chained in place, rendering him immobile. The room was filthy, the once white walls sullied by years' worth of blood and grime. The dim light filtering though the small window high up near the ceiling was the only source of light. At the beginning of his stay he had determined that he was being held in a basement and plotted his escape, but he no longer had the energy to care. _

_A door creaked open behind him and for a moment, a sliver of yellow light lit the room before being quickly cut off. His chains rattled faintly as he tried to lift his head to meet the eyes of his captor as they stood before him. He caught a glimpse of a pair of coal black eyes that glinted with malicious pleasure before exhaustion forced him to lower his head. A soft chuckle slithered over his skin, bringing with it the promise of unimaginable pain to come. _

_There was a sudden whistling and a snap as the whip struck the already shredded and infected skin of his back and he could not hold back his cry of pain, his voice hoarse and fading from many previous sessions each filled with excruciating pain, but in varying method. The days of abuse had long since begun to bleed together and he no longer had the strength to bear in silence. Every last drop of his fading strength was poured into keeping his will in tact. He would die before a word of intelligence would pass his lips. How much more of this could he be expected to take? The whipping seemed to go on for hours, but the drugs that they had given him refused to let his mind escape into the blessed relief of unconsciousness._

_His torturer remained quiet, uttering only the occasional derogetory comment or letting a derisive laugh slip past his lips. They hardly ever bothered to ask him questions anymore, content to push him to the very limits of his endurance._

_Finally, after an indefinite amount of time, the whipping stopped, but he was not yet allowed to rest. He felt the intense heat as it approached from behind long before the white-hot branding iron made contact with his skin and he could not hold back his screams of agony as it burned away the skin on his right shoulder. He screamed until his abused vocal cords could no longer produce the sounds of his torture and then he was forced to endure the searing pain in silence. The malicious laugh oozed over him once again as the darkness at the edges of his consciousness finally crept through his mind._

***

Alex awoke screaming bloody murder as he finally wrenched his mind from the memories of his captivity in Scorpia's prison compound, located in the remote wilderness of the Carpathian Mountains. He relaxed his clenched muscles, collapsing back on the bed and grinding his teeth together in frustration. His breath was still coming in heavy pants and he was drenched in a cold sweat. He let his head fall back and hit the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to banish the vivid images of the nightmare from his mind, locking them away in the corner of his mind where he stored the memories that he never thought about.

He had gotten his horrific nightmares under control long ago, but the strain of the current operation was taking a toll on his tortured psyche, chipping away at the walls that he had so carefully built. He sighed as he slowly rose from the bed, knowing that he would not sleep again that night, and, as always he was eternally thankful that none of the other agents in the small safe house had come running at the sound of his screams, which had surely woken the lot of them. It was humiliating enough that they had been witness to his weakness at all, especially considering the fact that many of them looked up to his ability to remain calm and collected in any situation. It was tiring to keep up the façade of perfection and emotional indifference, especially when the stakes were so high, yet he felt obligated to do so. Sometimes it seemed that it was so easy for them to forget that he was, despite his achievements and reputation, still human.

Alex shook his head, dislodging his pessimistic train of thought from his head and regaining his composure. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table as he stood up, noticing that he had only managed around four hours of sleep. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he made his way to the bathroom to wash away the last of his restless night.

***

When the rest of the team entered the kitchen, Alex was already sitting at the table, drinking a mug of strong black coffee as he continued to pore over the files that he had retrieved from the safe and spread over the table. Although his computer was running and connected to MI6's secure network, he was no longer trying to decode the suspicious e-mails, which he felt, at this point, were no longer critical to their objective. While the others in the infiltration section of the team were spending the final day at the CUCN as to not raise suspicions, Alex was staying home back at home base to go over the logistics for the night's operation with K-Unit. He nodded to the other agents as the trickled out the door, betraying no evidence of what had occurred earlier that morning. Soon the house was quiet and he and K-Unit were left alone to hammer out the details of the extraction.

"Is everything set for the exit?" Alex asked as he bent over to study the plans for the building's ventilation system more closely. Despite the fact that a solid plan to get _in_ had not yet been established, they had decided how they were going to get _out_ a week after they had arrived.

Wolf nodded curtly as he ended a phone conversation with a sympathetic contact in the Spetsnaz(1). "Everything is set. We've got access to an Orca and the correct people in the towers have already been paid off. RV is set for 0600 hours so you'll have 2 hours from the time you get in to the time that we've been able to set an exit window. You can't afford to be late or they'll have time to hit us with antiaircraft rounds."

Alex nodded his understanding and looked back down at the air systems diagram as the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place.

It _was_ simple, really.

Alex smiled inwardly as he studied the blueprints one last time to confirm his discoveries.

He had finally found his way in.

**(1) Spetsnaz (Спецназ)or Russian Special Forces. Some of the best (if not the best) special ops soldiers in the world. **

**So things are really in motion now and Alex is doing what he does best. Not a lot of hardcore action, but I wanted Alex to do some traditional espionage. I guess this chapter saw the extremes of his profession: the bland field work and the black ops objectives. **

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	8. Part VII: Extraction

**Okay people. This is the long awaited chapter where shit hits the fan, and I know that by the end of it many of you will be going "WTF!?!?" and be willing to do me bodily harm. So just brace yourselves..... and remember its a choice made through _logic_. Flawed logic maybe, but logic none the less. Out-of-charactarness (I know that's not a word) starts here.**

**On the other hand, while the previous chapter was about conventional field work, this one is _all_ action so we'll get to see Alex implement the methods that he's famous for. Yay!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough Said.**

Part VII: Operation Stage III: Extraction

The streets of Irkutsk lay cold and deserted in the dead of night as the witching hour approached. The nightclubs that were becoming so common in Russia had closed for the night and the city waited on baited breath for the bustle of the new day to begin. The only movement around the capitol was the pacing of the guards as they attended to their posts. No one noticed the black shadow scaling an unlit corner of the building.

Alex had spent the afternoon preparing for the infiltration; double-checking blueprints and schematics, finalizing the plans with K-Unit, and making sure he had all of the necessary equipment. The sun had begun to set by the time he was satisfied that everything was in working order and he left the safe house, dressed as any civilian with normal evening plans. He had used the last of the daylight to scope out the building, wandering around like any of the other tourists that had found themselves stuck in the city when the lines between East and West were once again redrawn.

As the sun had fallen below the horizon, he had slipped into the abandoned office complex across the street from the capitol building. The building had been simple to break into and provided him with a secure place to carry out stage one of his plan. He slipped out of the heavy jacket, dark blue button down shirt, and faded jeans that he had been wearing to reveal the black Nomex body suit that would allow him to blend into the night. He then began removing an array of equipment from the canvas backpack that he had brought with him from the safe house. Alex secured his specialized holster system over the Nomex suit and proceeded to put all of his guns in place and proceeded to strap his Steel Eagle combat knife to his calf. A utility belt that held several other pieces of specialized equipment followed his weapons and finally, he slipped a metascope, secured by a special head strap, in place over his right eye. He left the cloths and back pack in the office building, he wouldn't need them again.

Alex had used the rest of his time in the office building to work out the complex pattern of the guards' rotation and the placement of the external security cameras, looking for gaps that would allow him to slip through unnoticed. Through the Metascope, he could make out the faint beams of infrared light that he had already expected to crisscross the lawn and though he couldn't see, he was willing to bet that the roof was protected with similar security precautions. Finally, his watch beeped quietly, indicating that the time was 0400 hours and Alex had known that it was time to put his plan into action. He had crept across the lesser-used south lawns, keeping low to the ground with an army crawl as he weaved skillfully through the treacherous web of invisible beams, carefully lifting himself over some and carefully sliding his body under others. He had then used the buildings crumbling brick façade to scale it at a location carefully chosen for its protective shadows and minimal cameral exposure.

Alex slowed as he reached the top of the building, aware that the Scorpia operatives would have taken the time to rig the roof to alert them in the case of an intruder. Sure enough, the Metascope, a night vision monocular that detected infrared light, revealed an array of infrared beams crisscrossing over the flat rooftop. They were invisible to the naked eye and anyone who walked carelessly on the roof would disrupt the path of the beams, triggering an alarm. Thankfully, there appeared to be no cameras.

Alex carefully pulled himself up over the edge of the roof and picked his way through the maze of infrared beams. He was careful that he never came to close to any of the beams as he slowly made his way to his target: a ventilation shaft for the building's air system. A steel grille covered the shaft and Alex carefully examined the edges before pulling his knife from its sheath and carefully using the tip of the blade to remove each of the screws that held the grille in place. He caught the heavy grille as it came loose and started to fall before gently lowering it to the ground, making sure there was no noise and that the infrared grid was not disturbed.

Alex took one last look at the roof as he stowed the knife away, memorizing the location of the rooftop fire exit in relation to the helipad. Both were integral to his escape plan. He unclipped his radio from his belt and spoke into it quietly. "Kilo-Gold, this is Alpha-Gold; I'm in position for stage two."

There was silence for a moment before Eagle, the unit's engineer and signals man replied. "Roger that, Alpha-Gold, prepare for radio silence. We'll meet you on the other side."

"Ten-Four, Kilo-Gold. Romeo-Victor in two hours."

"Over and out."

Alex turned off his radio and prepared to enter the ventilation shaft. He pulled out four lightweight magnetic gripper devices from his utility belt. They were originally designed for inspecting bridges and the hulls of ships and oilrigs, but they worked perfectly for what he needed to do. He attached one to each of his feet and hands, entered the shaft, and slowly scaled down the inside wall, carefully releasing and repositioning each hand or foot before moving the next in order to make as little noise as possible. Alex descended as quickly as the delicate situation would allow, always aware of the fact that he only had two hours in which to find and extract Sabina and take out Kuznetsov and any members of Scorpia's executive board that were present. His foresight in memorizing the layout of the building's ventilation system paid off and he was able to navigate the maze of ducts confidently when he stopped descending and reached a level stretch. He moved more quickly then, putting away the magnetic grippers and spreading his weight as much as possible to prevent noise.

Alex soon found his way to an air vent that was placed in the ceiling of a bathroom. He peered through the grating of the vent cautiously to make sure that the room was deserted before he lifted out the grate and dropped through, landing noiselessly in a crouch on the tile floor. He quickly made his way to the exit and, after checking to make sure the coast was clear, slipped into the deserted hallway.

***

While the exterior of the Capitol building was a consistent crumbling brick, the interior on the far side of the steel security door belonged in a different century than the historical architecture of the Chambers of the Union of Communist Nations, where he had spent most of his time since arriving. Beyond the security door, the building had the feel of a state-of-the-art weapons laboratory, rather than a historic government building. The halls were a stark white and the lighting was the harsh brightness of fluorescent light, which chased away the shadows and left no place for a person to hide.

Alex carefully examined his surroundings, absorbing everything he could about them and trying to discover any fault that he could use to his advantage. He stayed close to the walls as he crept down the corridor, flitting through the estimated blind spots of the CCTV cameras that he spotted mounted on the ceiling. He knew that his best bet for success was to find the security room and disable the cameras. He frowned slightly in thought as he stalked silently through the corridors, trying to reason out the most probable location of security headquarters. While the blueprints of the building that he had obtained from MI6 were helpful, they were also incomplete, as those with enough power could often persuade the city and their contractors to conveniently "lose" their copies or "forget" to include key details.

Alex came to a junction of what appeared to be two major hallways. In one direction, the décor became more lavish, indicating that the rooms in that direction most likely held living quarters. The other hallways however, stuck to the stark, white laboratory-grade feel. The hallway to the left, directly across from the living quarters, seemed to open into a command center and Alex made a mental note to check it out later. Alex finally decided to keep going straight, hypothesizing that he would most likely find what he was looking for closer to the steel door and the "office space" rather than the "living space" where he suspected the Kuznetsov and the Executive Board members were staying.

After five more minutes of wandering the halls, Alex finally found what he was looking for. He was wary of the fact that he had yet to run into any members of security. It didn't sit well with him that the security for such a large and— in Scorpia's case— important operation would be so…_lax_. The lack of visible security seemed to set off his intuitive alarm bells, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise forebodingly. Alex shook his head, pushing his intuition to the back of his mind so that he could focus on the task at hand. He pulled out one of his Sigs and attached a silencer to the barrel of the gun before he carefully cracked the door open and went in gun first.

The two security guards huddling over the monitors turned in surprise at the sound of the safety on a gun being disengaged, telling Alex that he had either done much better than he thought at sticking to the blind spots on the CCTV, or that the guards had been particularly inattentive. He was more apt to go with the latter conclusion since the stark, bright hallways left little in terms of margin of error. The guards never got the chance to raise the alarm before Alex squeezed the trigger and the Sig spat out two muffled coughs. The guards sat slumped in their chairs, each with a perfect round bullet hole right between the eyes.

Alex ignored the two dead guards, stepping over them to examine the bank of TV's mounted on the walls, each of which displayed footage from a different camera. Two in particular caught his attention and he memorized their location before turning to the racks of recorded security footage that was kept on file. He flipped through the disks until he found the recordings from the day before and inserted the disk into the TV bank, setting it to play from the correct time. As far as any security guard was now concerned, yesterday's footage was today's, allowing Alex to walk through the halls with a smaller chance of detection. He hid the bodies of the security guards in a closet before he slipped out of the room, retracing his steps until he arrived at the command center he had passed earlier. Half an hour of his time had passed and he still had a lot to accomplish.

The banks of computers and high tech machinery were enough to tell Alex that the room he was in was what Scorpia was using as their base of operations in Russia. It was also the room that any missile launch directives would be controlled from. Alex quickly made his way to the stacks of servers that occupied the center of the room and pulled yet another devise from his utility belt.

The device was heavy, and about twice the size of the palm of his hand, but compared to the original it was absolutely miniscule. Smithers had always been an expert at miniaturizing complex pieces of technology while maximizing efficiency, and while the device was not nearly as powerful as its full sized counterpart, it would be powerful enough to get the job done. The device was in fact, a Virtual Cathode Oscillator or VRECATOR. When detonated, it would emit a high-frequency electromagnetic pulse lasting only microseconds, but it would be enough to short circuit and ignite every electrical device within 200 meters. The original, which had been invented by a Russian scientist, was powerful enough to fry every circuit within a quarter mile radius, but that was something that was far beyond even Smithers' capabilities to duplicate in a device so small.

Alex pulled the pin out of his MI6 issue stainless steel Swatch chronograph and inserted it into the device, causing it to activate. It could now be detonated remotely by pressing the reset button on the chronograph three times. Satisfied, Alex planted several other red mercury micro-explosives before he left the command center to find the first of the two rooms that he had identified in the security footage. Forty-five minutes had passed; he had just over an hour left.

***

The décor became more lush as Alex treaded quietly through the hallways, moving deeper and deeper into the living quarters of the government leaders and Scorpia operatives. This area of the building was just as unguarded as the rest, but Alex had the feeling that it was because the leaders wanted privacy, rather than the mysterious and foreboding breakdown in patrols. The warning bells were still going off in the back of Alex's head, but he ignored them, intent to finish in the small amount of time he had left. He kept his senses alert though, always prepared for any attack.

Alex came to an ornately carved, antique wooden door in the middle of a wide corridor that was painted in rich reddish hues and lined with plush golden carpet. He soon found himself thankful though since, while ostentatious, the rug masked any latent sound of his approach.

The CCTV camera bank had allowed Alex to pinpoint the locations of both Kuznetsov and Sabina. The Scorpia assassins and the members of the executive board were nowhere in sight and Alex decided that he would take Kuznetsov out first. He suspected that the Scorpia representatives would be closer to Sabina; after all, they were the major party that was campaigning for his death and Sabina was clearly the bait for their elaborate trap. The trouble would start the moment he tried to get her out.

Alex grasped the doorknob and carefully twisted it. He met no resistance from a lock, another indication of the halfhearted security used within the building. They were obviously overconfident with the exterior security put in place. He opened the door carefully, mindful to make sure the old door didn't squeak on its hinges, and slipped into the room, melding into the darkness as if he was no more than a shadow.

Kuznetsov lay asleep in his plush, antique, dark wooden, king-size bed, covered by golden silk sheets and a deep red comforter. The rest of the room was decorated in an equally lavish manner— there was nothing in the room that was not the best money could buy. Priceless antiques were mixed tastefully with the best in modern amenities and technology, creating a living space most could only dream of. The golden carpet continued from the hallway into the room, muffling Alex's already silent footsteps as he approached the bed, pulling out the silenced gun.

The Russian dictator and former leader of the KGB didn't wake until the distinctive click of a safety being unlocked interrupted his sleep. He woke with a start, groggy, shocked, and disoriented. He had become complacent since his days in the agency, no longer looking for attacks from all sides, as anyone in his business should. He knew that Scorpia and old enemies could always present a threat, but he had spent the majority of his time since the collapse of the Soviet Union in a remote corner of Siberia, directing his plans from afar and he was now confident in the empire he had created.

It was because of this complacency that Kuznetsov didn't see his death coming until it was too late. He caught one glimpse of a fair-haired young man with a cold, emotionless face and haunted brown eyes behind the barrel of the gun that was pressed against his temple before he slumped unmoving on the bed, his blood slowly staining his expensive sheets.

Alex didn't flinch as he pulled the trigger and buried a bullet into the Russian man's brain; the part of him that screamed for morality and conscience locked deep in the back of his mind, silenced by Scorpia training and experience. Although he killed with discretion, he was not in a position in which he could allow for mercy. His objectives, as it did now, constantly toed the line between Special and Black operations and there was no room for morality in such situations. He was there to take out Kuznetsov and any high-ranking Scorpia members, sow the final seed of discord, and extract Sabina, and he would do his job to the letter. It had been several years since his first cold kill, and even though he didn't like it, and the act no longer phased him as it once did as he slipped into the mindset of the assassin that he had almost become. As soon as his task was done, Alex turned away from the body and slipped out of the room, removing the silencer as he once again disappeared into the maze of corridors.

***

Alex made his way down yet more stark, white hallways until he came to a dead end corridor that was further out of the way than most other places within the building that were in use. The corridor had only one room attached to it on the left hand side; the second room that he had identified when he was in the security office. Unlike the first room, a single guard patrolled the corridor outside. Quickly and quietly, Alex snuck up behind the guard as he turned to walk the length of the corridor, swiftly covering the man's mouth with one hand while he pressed forcefully on the pressure point on the man's neck with the other. Within seconds, the guard was an unconscious heap in his arms, and he would remain that way for several hours. Alex lowered the guard quietly to the ground and searched him until he found a set of keys, which he thumbed through until he had found the correct one with which to unlock the single locked door.

As he reached for the door handle, the sense of foreboding that had been festering inside him became stronger than ever and the hairs on the back of his neck rose in an involuntary reaction to the danger that he could sense swirling around him. He knew that he was walking into a trap of some sort— there was just no telling what kind. Alex took a final, steadying breath as he prepared to enter the room, unsure of what state he would find Sabina in. The slight tension in his expression and posture were the only indications of his apprehension.

Alex kicked the door open to reveal a large white room, furnished only with a twin-sized bed with a rusted metal frame. Every surface was cold and hard, and thick iron bars blocked the one small window, set high on the East wall. Despite the early hour, bright, white light flooded the space, torturing its occupant in the form of sleep deprivation. Sabina Pleasure sat on the bed, her legs folded defensively in front of her with her arms wrapped around them. Her head rested on her knees and her long black hair hung down around her. Even from across the room she seemed to have shrunken. She was much thinner than she had been the last time he had seen her and her spirit seemed to have been crushed. He didn't know that the transformation had started long before her kidnapping.

The sight of the diminished form of one of the people he cared most about momentarily stopped Alex in his tracks. He stood a couple of paces into the room, the door still wide open behind him, unable to go any further. "Sab," he whispered, and the barest hint of anguish leaked through his control and into his voice.

Sabina's head snapped up at the unexpected voice and Alex immediately noticed the dark purple bruises that adorned her face. Her eyes seemed closed and hopeless, but he thought he saw an unrecognizable emotion flicker deep within them. "Alex," she croaked, her broken voice barely more than a whisper.

Sabina's voice seemed to snap Alex out of his frozen state and he rushed forward to embracer her in a gentle hug, pulling her against his chest. He pressed his face into her hair, exhaling heavily in relief; the sound was almost a sob. She had already been tortured enough on his account, and he couldn't bear to see her hurt any more. For every second that he spent with her, a little more of his cold exterior slipped away, exposing what little was left of the innocent teenage boy he had once been.

While a part of his mind was wrapped up in the relief of finding her relatively unharmed, the majority of his mind was still occupied with taking care of the board members and getting her out. He knew that the probability of confrontation was extremely high now, an he was alert for an attack from any direction; it was a testament to the fact that despite the immediate affect of Sabina's presence, she could in no way silence "Alex the spy": the part of him that was, and always would be, firmly in control.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he told her, she only nodded minutely into his chest, but Alex detected something slightly _off_ in her demeanor and it sent off alarm bells in his head. His instincts took over and he gently pushed her back, studying her face with intense scrutiny.

"Are you alright?" he asked, he was frowning and his eyes were guarded as he carefully read her facial expressions. Again, Sabina nodded mutely, staring up at him with hollow eyes. Then she swallowed thickly and answered in her rough and broken voice.

"Yes," she said, but Alex's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something was very wrong. There was a small change in her demeanor that didn't fit. She stiffened as, in one slow motion, Alex stretched his hand toward her with a deliberate intention that would either confirm or deny his suspicions and swept her hair back, exposing the shell of her left ear. Sabina continued to stare at him with blank eyes, but he could see the beginnings of defiance sparking deep within them as he turned his attention back to her hear. The bright, white light that illuminated the room filtered through the shell of her ear from behind, turning it a glowing, translucent red. His breath caught and he stiffened as he saw the mark through the translucent skin that confirmed his suspicions. A flicker of unimaginable pain ignited deep in his eyes as he let his hand fall back to his side and the mark was hidden once again.

There, tattooed on the back of her ear, where it was with all high ranking members, was a small black Scorpion, pincers open and tail raised and ready to strike; the mark of any member of the Scorpia. Realization was accompanied by the metallic click of a gun's safety being unlocked as one of the small hands that had been resting on his stomach pulled the Ruger from his hip and pressed the muzzle into his abdomen. His Nomex body suit, while ideal for stealth, offered no security from injury.

Nonetheless, Alex slowly redirected his attention from where the tattoo on her ear was once again covered by her hair to her face. All traces of emotion in his expression had been lost, leaving his face cold and unreadable. He stared at her with a penetrating gaze that seemed to be as devoid of life as his facial features, and she stood frozen, lost in the black abyss of his stone cold gaze. They stood locked in a battle of wills, silently analyzing each other for weaknesses before she shakily broke the silence, her voice stronger than before.

"You destroyed me, Alex," she said. "How could I forgive you for what happened on Air Force One? And before, with Cray and Gregorovich? You dragged me into this world and destroyed me."

Alex felt, rather than heard, the others entering the room. He counted five distinct pairs of footsteps and decided that it was the three board members stationed in Irkutsk and two of their assassins. Although he couldn't see them, his proverbial sixth sense, an almost supernatural spatial awareness, felt it as they spread out in a semi-circle behind him, cutting off his escape.

But Alex didn't want to escape, at least not right away.

Sabina continued speaking, her voice twisted with anguish for the life that she lost. "I couldn't _trust_ anymore. I couldn't get over what had happened. And then we moved to America, driven out of our home to escape it all. It was like there was a wall between me and the other kids. I couldn't talk freely with them, I was isolated, and every day the divide grew. _And it's all you're fault_."

"So you betrayed your country," he stated evenly, still aware of the gun pressed into his abdomen. "And you betrayed me."

Anger sparked and caught flame in Sabina's eyes at the accusation and she pressed the muzzle harder against him.

"I can't describe ho much I hate you for what you did to me. When Scorpia offered me the chance to help end you, and possibly kill you myself, I wasn't going to pass it up." A hollow click sounded through the room as she pulled the trigger, and Alex stood motionless, his lifeless gaze still boring into her own. She pulled the trigger again and was met with the same empty sound. She frowned in confusion and glanced down at the gun still pressed into Alex's abdomen.

Alex used her distraction against her, lunging forward suddenly and knocking the gun out of her hand. It skidded across the floor and into the far corner of the room, but he was quickly restrained by two sets of hands that dragged him backwards and into the center of the room. "You didn't actually believe that I would go around, openly wearing this much fire power without making sure I was the only one that could use it, did you?" he ground out, looking straight into Sabina's eyes as he was forced to his knees and divested of his weapons, which were thrown unceremoniously into a corner. One of the assassins held an AK-47 to his temple while the other kept his arms locked behind him. He put up just enough fight against the two assassins to be convincing, opting to conserve the greater part of his energy until he had a better opening. His survival instincts were kicking into overdrive and he was calculating is chances and sketching out different plans of action. He was hyper-aware that he only had 25 more minutes in which to act— if he survived that long.

Sabina moved to stand in front of him with the three Scorpia board members. A cruel, vindictive smile spread over her face as she took in the image of him being held, apparently helpless, between the two elite assassins. One of the board members, Vladimir Milanković, a former member of the Serbian secret police, began recording Alex's struggles with a camcorder, a cruel attempt at a smile twisting his lips into an unpleasant sneer.

"You can be sure that you're death will make tomorrow's news," the man drew out in his native tongue, knowing the teenage spy would understand. "It will be broadcast in every country around the world and you will serve as a warning to others who attempt to take us down. Tell me Alex, how does it feel to be a failure?"

Alex stared at the Milanković with a stone cold expression, but the older man didn't flinch. The terrorist continued to record what was happening as the assassin cocked the AK-47 and prepared to fire. It was then that Alex made his move, using a technique that his alias was famous for and that Milanković would immediately recognize. He ducked his head down and ripped his arms out of the second assassin's grasp. The assassin, who was surprised by the amount of force Alex had put into the movement after his misleading struggles, didn't tighten his grip fast enough to stop it. Alex rammed his elbow into the area just below gunman's kneecap from his position on the ground, causing the man to stumble in pain. He then swung his legs around, knocking the man to the floor, and snapped the man's neck in one quick movement. He then turned to the other assassin, knocking away the gun that the man had to begun to draw with a roundhouse kick from his place on the floor and killing him with a thrust kick to the chest, hard enough to cause the man's heart to beat in irregular and uncoordinated palpitations.

Two shots rang out and a burning pain exploded in Alex's left shoulder as the bullets buried themselves in his flesh, only inches from where he had been hit three years previously. Alex grunted in pain, but didn't let his now nearly useless arm slow him down, knowing that doing so would cost him his life. He pushed himself off with his legs and used his momentum to slide himself across the floor on his stomach, just in time to dodge a third bullet. He reached for the closest of his guns and twisted around, squeezing off three shots in quick succession as he sprung to his feet.

The first two hit the shooter, executive member Rose Baldwin, in the chest while the last hit Milanković in the arm, causing him to drop the camera. The man cursed again and charged at Alex, drawing a knife from a sheath on his hip as he approached. The enraged Serbian swung the knife in a violent arc, and Alex leaned back just in time as the knife tip passed inches from his face. A distinct feeling of déjà vu swept over him as he remembered being in a similar position nine months previously. He blocked a punch from the Milanković's other hand, but his weakened shoulder could not deflect all the force and he was forced to drop his gun. Milanković used Alex's weak arm to knock him back to the floor and keep him pinned in place.

"I should have known," he said as he brought the knife up and cut a deep gash from his left temple to his jaw. "I should have known since that day in Kuznetsov's office that you were already among us, _Vukasin_." Milanković spat out a string of profanities as he continued to gouge the knife into Alex's skin, ignoring the spy's struggles. "You won't be getting away with the treachery this time."

Alex let out a strangled roar as he finally broke the Serb's hold, grabbing the knife hand by the wrist and squeezing and twisting until the bone shattered from the force of his grip. Milanković cried out in pain, but Alex reached behind him scrabbling for the nearest of his guns while doing his best to fend off the enraged man. He finally got a firm grip on his Sig, lifting it up and firing several rounds into the man's stomach. Milanković's body went limp, slumping on top of him and Alex pushed the man to the side. He got up, scanning the room for signs of the next attack.

Sabina was hanging back, letting the more experienced members of Scorpia confront him. She knew that she was no match for him, but he was weak from injury, and his last opponent would be his toughest.

Former KGB agent Peter Ivanov was the Executive Board's most formidable fighter. He had hung back during the beginning of the fight, not willing to make his hatred of the teenage spy incite him into making mistakes. His first attack came out of nowhere; catching Alex off guard, and Alex just barely had time to duck beneath the blow that would have ended his life. He was so caught up in the first blow that he failed to notice the kick that followed it and was rewarded with a crushing impact on his ribs. Alex felt a couple of them crack on impact and retreated slightly, giving himself time to react to the next attack.

The Russian's blows were coming hard and fast and Alex was hard pressed to block them. He was forced to stay on the defensive as the Russian slowly backed him into a corner. Although the two of them would usually be an even match, Alex's weakened state gave Ivanov a huge advantage, yet, the near certainty of death appealed to the spy's well-honed survival instincts. He was never one to go down without a fight, and he had no intentions of letting the people who had worked to systematically destroy as much of his life as possible kill him now.

Alex gritted his teeth, fighting against the pain of the bullet and knife wounds that were draining him of blood and energy and the broken ribs that caused a searing pain with every movement. He knew that if the fight didn't end soon, he would be overcome by blood loss and weakness. He felt his mind shift into autopilot and his tired movements evened out as his conscious mind receded and he allowed his subconscious to take control.

Ivanov had backed him into the corner, but Alex ducked quickly as the Russian struck out to grab his neck and strangle him. He slid between the man's parted legs and grasped the Steel Eagle that he had noticed lying in that corner of the room as he had allowed Ivanov to back him into such a vulnerable position. He quickly popped up behind the Russian man pinned the man in the corner before he had time to turn around and the blade into the base of the Russian's neck, severing the spinal cord and killing him instantly.

Ivanov's limp body teetered for a moment before it collapsed to the ground and Alex released a tired breath and bent slowly and painfully to remove the blade from where it was now lodged in the Russian's body. He wiped it clean on his stealth suit and sheathed it as he started retrieving his equipment. Sabina let out a strangled shriek of rage and disappointment. She launched herself at Alex, intent on hurting him as much as she could.

"You _destroyed_ my _life_," she snarled as she tried in vain to break through Alex's defenses, but he parried her attacks with ease, even in his wounded state. Alex threw all his weight against Sabina knocking her to the floor where she lay injured and prone. The distinct click of metal on metal sounded through the bare room as he unlocked the safety of his Ruger and Sabina looked up at him in shock. His face was cold and unreadable. Even his eyes, which were usually so clear, had become twin pools of impenetrable darkness.

"And you've made a very good attempt at destroying mine," he replied tonelessly, purposely remaining vague. A loud bang echoed through the room and Sabina's body lay slumped on the floor, a perfect round hole in her right temple, out of which a trickle of blood slowly dripped. Here eyes were blank and glassy and her lips still curled into a snarl, only the faintest beginnings of surprise were visible in her lifeless expression.

Alex gathered up the rest of his scattered equipment as quickly as he could in his condition of injury, studiously ignoring the crumpled bodies that lay around him. He paused to wipe away the blood that was trickling out of the knife wound on his face, outwardly oblivious to the burning pain his wounds were causing him. The aura of coldness that usually surrounded him had increased tenfold and his expression remained curiously blank. He checked his watch as he slipped out of the condemned room, noticing that he had only minutes to meet up with the RV. He sprinted through the hallways, pushing his battered body to its limits and ignoring the first signs of life that were beginning to stir within the building as daylight swiftly approached. He didn't stop as the security guards that had been absent earlier in the night came running toward the commotion and gunshots and flung himself against a door at the end of a long corridor. As he expected, he found himself in the stairwell and he immediately began to ascend. He took the stairs two at a time, desperate to get out of the building and away from the pursuing guards as fast as he could.

Alex burst though the door at the top of the fire escape, not caring that he set off the security alarms as he ran recklessly across the rooftop to the helipad where a Kamov Ka-60K Orca Russian Air Force transport helicopter was touching down. He ran in crouch as he approached the copter, buffeted by the air being forced through the choppers blades, and pulled himself painfully into the cabin as soon as the door was opened. K-Unit was waiting for him inside with Eagle in the pilot's seat.

"Lets go," he said stonily, ignoring the wary glances of his comrades as he leaned tiredly against the edge of a seat from his semi-reclined position on the floor. His breath was coming in pants as Snake began tending to his injuries as best he could in the cramped aircraft.

The SAS men looked at him in apprehension. "What about-" began Bear, but Alex cut him off.

"I said, let's go," he growled dangerously and the soldiers complied, knowing better than to question his authority. Shots rang out from the guards on the roof as the helicopter lifted off and Alex deliberately pressed the reset button of his watch three times.

They fled toward the rising sun as the building was engulfed in flames behind them.

The helicopter quickly transported the five of them to the nearest airstrip, where the rest of the team was waiting for them to arrive. Members of Air Traffic Control had been paid off and the same C-130 that had brought them to the drop zone had been allowed to land less than an hour before. The team waited in the cargo bay of the plane, ready to take off as soon as Alex and K-Unit arrived.

The adrenalin that had kept Alex going during the fight had worn off quickly, leaving him exhausted and weak. He had lost a large amount of blood from his wounds and in addition to his more obvious wounds, he was severely bruised. Blood was smeared across his face and stained his suit, but he gave no outward indication of his pain, his face set in a blank and unwavering emotionless mask. Despite his strength of will, he no longer had the energy to walk without help across the tarmac to the waiting cargo plane. Alex moved slowly, supported by Snake and Bear. Although the medic had staunched the bleeding from the bullet wounds, he was slightly dizzy from the loss of blood.

The other members of the team stared in surprise and worry as Alex and K-Unit boarded the plane. While they were worried for his physical health, they all knew that he had suffered much worse and would make a full recovery; what worried them more was the expression on the young spy's face. They had all seen his emotionless exterior before, but now he was stone cold, the sense of danger that filled the air around him had increased tenfold. The psychological damage that he might have sustained in the last two hours worried them more than any physical injury.

Snake helped Alex onto the bench that lined the cargo bay as Wolf signaled for the pilot to take off. The C-130 shuddered to a start and sped down the runway. Alex leaned back and closed his eyes as the plane lumbered into the air and began the journey back to Germany. Snake carefully removed Alex's holsters and utility belt and peeled the top half of the Nomex body suit down to reveal the spy's already heavily scarred torso, where dark bruises were blooming over his cracked ribs.

Snake opened the fully equipped field medical kit that was kept in the C-130 and began pulling out supplies he pulled out a pair of forceps and a scalpel in order to remove the bullets lodged in Alex's shoulder. Alex didn't even flinch as Snake made a small, vertical incision at the bottom of each bullet hole so that he could create more room for him to work in; he was too tired to care. Snake then dug around in the wound with the forceps for a bit before he pulled the bloody projectiles out and blood began to gush out of the wounds with increased flow. The medic quickly cleaned the bullet holes and stitched them shut, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

"You're lucky it didn't hit anything important," he said as he wrapped the spy's shoulder in gauze. "It should be okay in a couple of months, at the very least _try_ not to do anything stressful with it for the next couple of weeks."

Alex nodded curtly, still stony and silent. He opened his eyes and stared into the distance, his right fist clenched tightly on top of his knee. The medic then turned to his face and began to clean and stitch the knife wound. They both knew that he would have a scar there for the rest of his life. Snake finished with Alex's face and moved on to his ribs. He prodded the area gently to determine the severity of the hit. Alex didn't even flinch.

"It looks like you broke three of them," the medic said as he wrapped Alex's chest tightly in order to support the broken bones. "Who did it?"

"Ivanov," Alex replied tonelessly. "Milanković left me the parting gift on my face."

Snake winced at the nonchalance with which Alex talked about his wounds. Usually the some anger or frustration would be present in the spy's tone but now it was just _dead_. "And your shoulder?" he pressed.

"Baldwin."

There was a charged silence in the cargo bay as the team wondered how far they should push Alex for information. It was obvious that something had happened and that the infiltration had not gone entirely to plan, but no one was sure what.

Alex took the time to pull a pair of combat pants over the thin Nomex suit. He carefully slipped back into the top of the body suit and zipped it up, once again hiding his chest from view. He took a single Sig and tucked it in the waistband of his combats before leaning back and closing his eyes once again.

Wolf, as usual, was the one who broke the silence, his impatience finally causing him to blurt out the question everyone was dying to ask, but to wary to voice.

"Where's Sabina?" he asked. It was only because he was studying Alex so closely that he saw Alex flinch almost imperceptibly at the name.

"Leave it be," Alex said, a hint of steel in his otherwise emotionless tone. He turned to face the SAS soldier, his jaw clenched in acute restraint and a fire had kindled in the depths of his emotionless eyes.

Wolf ignored the order, continuing to press for details. "What happened in there, Cub? I know you got in there without issue and you finished the job that you were sent to do, but you came out covered in blood and one man short and-"

"Wolf!" Alex shouted, his voice hard and as cold as ice. "As your commanding officer, I am _ordering_ you to leave it be."

Wolf's eyes widened. Alex _never_ pulled rank; the fact that he was now was an indication that something was seriously wrong. The soldier was shocked into silence by Alex's outburst. He expected the young spy to leave it at that, but his pushing seemed to have touched a nerve, causing the emotions that Alex had locked down to break free for a moment and the spy didn't stop.

Alex stood up roughly, ignoring Snakes protests, all tiredness leaving him in his anger and faced Wolf, their noses almost touching as he invaded the SAS soldier's personal space. "But if you _must_ know," he spat out icily, "She's dead. And good riddance."

Alex didn't give Wolf enough time to respond, before he stalked off, going towards the cockpit to talk with the pilot and co-pilot. Wolf stood frozen for a moment, too shocked to move. He shook his head slowly and his eyes met the wide-eyed faces of his teammates, whose expressions were a mixture of shock, worry, and comprehension.

"Shit," Tamara whispered, her worry radiated off her as she realized what had happened. She launched herself off the bench and started to go after Alex before a restraining hand was placed on her shoulder.

"Let him go, Tamara," Ben said from behind her. "You can't help him now."

She spun around, her eyes sparkling with anger and defiance. "What makes you say that?" she asked

"You know him, Tamara, he won't speak to anyone now, especially when the betrayal is so fresh. He's dealing with it the only way he can. I'm not saying it's healthy, because God knows it's not, but no one's going to get through that wall if he doesn't want them too, and that's not likely to happen. Alex never makes the same mistake twice, even if the first time was involuntary."

"Then we've lost him."

"No."

Ben and Tamara turned in the direction of the speaker. Edward Aldridge was sitting on the bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. His copper hair was in disarray and his green eyes were calm and confident. "We haven't," he continued. "He'll pull through this, he always does, because that's what makes him Alex. It may take more time than usual— its definitely the greatest betrayal he's ever experienced, but he'll pull through. He may come out with a heart encased in ice, and he may not, but we won't loose him. Even through the worst, his core values remain unshaken. He's steadfast, incorruptible- something he's proven time and time again, and it's the thing that makes him the ultimate threat. It's why we follow him. When he's ready, he'll be back in the game. It won't be too long. This is what he does— it's what he _is_. We won't loose him."

The team stood in thoughtful silence as they considered what the German spy had said. "I hope, you're right," Wolf said finally. "The world would be a scarier place without him."

The team lapsed back into silence as they continued going about their duties to prepare for their arrival in England. No one said a word as Alex emerged from the cockpit ten minutes later, his face once again set in a stone cold mask as he sat apart from the rest of the group and rested his head in his hands.

**Don't say I didn't warn you.**

**When I said the betrayal of a life time.....you may have seen that coming, and you may not. I wonder, was I obvious or not? **

**Like I said at the beginning of the chapter, there are probably a lot of you out there going "WTF!?!" but this was never going to be an Alex and Sabina happily ever after story.**

** As for Alex killing Sab, it would have made a lot of sense to his special/black operative side of his brain once all the feeling/emotional chips were down. Pure hard logic. She knew too much and she was using what she knew to aid the other side. If X then Y, if Y then Z and all that shit. Decisions without any sort of emotional interference. (Kinda)**

**Don't worry, things will eventually get better....eventually. But the severity of the emotional blow is making him act majorly out of character.**

** Tell me what you think! I don't mind constructive criticism, but don't leave a review just to bash me for my plot choices. Believe me when I say I've got a full arsenal of arguments with which to defend them.**

**TheUlmuri**


	9. Part VIII: Return

**Wow. Thanks for all the reviews!**

**And here I was waiting for much more backlash for that plot twist than I actually got. Maybe all the dissenter out there are just staying quiet, but either way, I was shocked by the response. **

**As you can imagine, Alex is in a bad place right now, and clearly not acting like himself. Again, the chapter's low on action, but the main focus now is Alex's psychological and emotional turmoil.**

**Once again, the companion piece got put on the back burner due to the loads of homework I've had assigned. It would have been more fun to write than a paper on the fall of the Soviet Union in terms of Legitimate Authority (don't ask), but alas, homework comes first. I promise, it _will_ be done soon.**

**And on to the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough said.**

Part VII: Return

Alex returned to school at the beginning of March, two weeks after the operation was completed, cold, stoic, and injured. His left shoulder was wrapped up tightly underneath his black long sleeved shirt and his arm was in a sling. The hasty field stitches had been removed from his face and replaced with surgical glue, making the knife wound that stretched from his temple to his chin look slightly less gruesome. As usual, he carried a Sig-229 tucked into the waistband of his kaki cargo pants and a Steel Eagle strapped to his calf, his shoulder injuries preventing him from carrying its twin. His movements were slightly stiff from his broken ribs, but otherwise, his fluid gait screamed lethality more than ever before.

Students stopped and stared as Alex's Aston Martin entered the school grounds, pausing their conversations midsentence to follow its progress across the lot. Alex could almost feel the collectively held breath of his classmates as he cut the ignition and stepped out of the vehicle. Every single one of them was aware of the tense political situation that had built up and collapsed over the past months. They all knew how close the world had come to the brink of WWIII and how the crisis had come to a sudden and fiery end. They had, as expected, figured out that he was directly responsible for the turn of events.

Alex ignored the other students as he walked into the building, not even bothering to spare his attention for the gazes that followed him. Students and adults alike stepped back as he threaded his way though the crowd. His cold aura was almost palpable, setting off alarm bells in the subconsci of his peers, warning them to stay away and out of danger. Each and every one of them had watched his slow transformation into a hardened operative over the past four years, but they had never seen Alex quite like this. His eyes were dead and he was entirely unapproachable, danger rolled off of him more strongly than ever before and the level of control he now exuded made him all the more deadly. All traces of the young and carefree schoolboy he had once been were entirely gone.

Alex paused briefly as he reached the top step of the main entrance to the school, where Mr. Bray was standing awkwardly, drawn out of his office by the silent but present commotion that Alex's arrival had created. The principal was no different than the rest of the students and teachers when a soft shiver of fear traveled down his spine as he gazed at Alex. The coldness that radiated off the teenager prompted him to take an involuntary step back and his words faltered.

"A-Alex," he stuttered in greeting, carefully studying the blank features of his student's face and shifting his weight minutely from foot to foot in his discomfort. Alex's gaze flickered briefly to the Mr. Bray's before the spy redirected his attention to the school and stalked silently into the building, leaving the headmaster stunned into immobility by fear and surprise behind him.

The crowds of students continued to part for Alex as he walked stalked into his homeroom and sat down at the back of the classroom next to Tom without a word. He nodded to the other boy in greeting and Tom stuttered out a response, thrown off by his best friend's A-typical behavior. Tho other students turned in their seats, craning their necks so that they could continue to stare at Alex until their teacher cleared her throat nervously and called the class to attention.

Tom sat quietly next to Alex, his usual exuberance extinguished by Alex's cold demeanor. The smaller boy studied him intently, not paying attention to what the teacher was saying as Alex put undue focus into listening to the lecture, though he took no notes. Of course Tom knew that Alex didn't need them. The hour seemed to pass by at an excruciatingly slow rate as the teacher droned on about the latest book that they were reading in class. When the bell finally rang, Alex stood quickly and was at the door before the other students had begun to move.

"Alex," Tom called out, and the teen stopped in his tracks, one hand against the frame of the open door.

Alex closed his eyes and let out a deep breath before he slowly opened his eyes and turned around, knowing that his best friend was about to ask him the question that he was so desperate to avoid. He didn't speak as he waited for Tom to ask the question that was so obviously on the tip of his tongue.

"What happened to Sabina?" Tom asked quietly. If he hadn't been studying his best friend so closely, he would never have registered the slight tensing of Alex's muscles as he said the name.

Alex's jaw flexed for a moment in acute restraint and for a fraction of a second, an unidentifiable emotion flared up in his eyes before he reined it in and relaxed his muscles. "Tom," he said, his voice unnaturally calm, "If you ever mention the name of that double-crossing bitch in my presence again, then I can't be held responsible for my actions," he stated matter-of-factly, no inflection in his dead tone.

Tom froze in shock as realization hit him like a freight train. He scrambled to regain his composure, but by the time he found his voice, Alex was already gone.

***

Alex stalked out of homeroom with the memories of what had happened in Irkutsk burning fresh in his mind. After a short, but intense internal struggle, he gritted his teeth and pushed the memories to the back of his mind, determined to keep them locked away. The emotions that ran rampant through him were so strong and conflicting that he gone into lock down. Where as before he had let trough just enough of his emotions to let his humanity shine through, he now used all of the discipline that he had obtained over the course of his MI6 career to conceal his mind from the outside world.

He had never felt so trapped inside his own head.

Sabina's betrayal had ripped away his capacity to trust implicitly. He had never trusted easily before hand, but in the aftermath of what had happened, the ability was entirely destroyed. He knew that the wary, near total trust that he had come to develop with his unit and others that he worked with in the field was likely to be the closest that he would ever again get to the real thing. Worse, the betrayal had taken away his capacity to truly _feel_. He was filled to the brim with a dangerous concoction of emotions, but he had retreated so far into his emotionless agent persona that he felt detached from them, separated from them by a thick and impenetrable wall of glass, observing them as if from an outside source.

The betrayal stung like an open wound, superseding the physical pain he was suffering as a result of the final confrontation. The dull throb in his shoulder where he had been shot was nothing in comparison to psychological torture of his mind. From the beginning, he had tried and failed to resist the bonds that he had begun to develop with her, knowing that they had a very real chance of bringing about nothing but pain. He was frustrated and angry that he hadn't been able to keep himself distant from the emotional destruction that he saw coming from miles away and the more arrogant part of him had taken the fact that he did not see the betrayal coming as a hit on his personal and professional pride. He was devastated that someone he had, in his own way, _loved_, had had it in them to be so hateful and he felt guilty, knowing that he was somewhat responsible for her fall from grace. But at the same time, he was empty. He could no longer find it in himself to care.

He couldn't figure out if he wanted to explode from the violent mix of emotions inside him, or let the emptiness swallow him whole.

Blunt had put him on indefinite leave, and he had to agree with the spymaster's decision. He knew that if he took on an assignment in his current frame mind there were two ways it could end: either he would let the cold-hearted killing machine take over completely, or he would snap. Either way, his judgment would be impaired and neither option would lead to a desirable outcome, but Alex couldn't even begin to fathom where he should start in pulling himself back together, even just enough to return to active duty.

Alex sighed quietly as he slipped into his next class and took his seat at the back, ignoring the constant stares of his classmates. He felt like a bug under a microscope, unable to escape the awed and fearful stares that now followed him everywhere. He could almost feel the hero worship developing as they watched him—the last thing he wanted from his peers. His only solace was that the awe was mixed with no small amount of fear and he chose the only semi-good option he had and continued to ignore them.

By lunchtime, Alex was more than ready to give his over curious classmates the slip. He deliberately avoided the crowded cafeteria, easily making his way though the crowds of students that filled the halls and slipped into the gym. The large space was quiet and deserted aside from the coach, who had come out of his office when he noticed that someone had entered the space. He nodded warily at Alex as he realized who it was before returning to his office.

Despite the fact that he was still recovering from his injuries, Alex began running through a series of workouts, aware of the fact that he still needed to keep his body in prime condition and knowing that it would also provide a possible outlet for the dangerous mix of emotions that was brewing inside of him. He overlooked the fact that the coach had come out of his office to stare at him as he completed a round of one-armed push-ups and started a series of conditioning drills, ignoring the strain that he was putting his recovering body through. When the bell finally rang, Alex felt slightly better for the exercise, despite the fact that he was hindered by his injuries. He looked at the coach, who was still standing in the doorway to his office with a look of shock, and mild concern on his face, and got to his feet, covered only in a light sheen of sweat. His emotionless expression never once faltered.

Other students began to filter into the gym as they prepared for their next class and Alex picked up his rucksack and made to leave. He paused beside the coach as he made his way over to the doors, but refrained from making eye contact. "I'll be ready to start playing again in two weeks," he said tonelessly, before leaving without waiting for a response.

The crowds of students continued to part for Alex as he stalked his way through the halls and the rest of the school day passed by in a monotonous blur of stares and whispers. Alex continued to ignore his fellow classmates, paying more attention in his classes than was strictly necessary. Tom looked on silently, growing more and more worried as he began to realize just how far his best friend had retreated into himself. He knew that talking to Alex now would be useless. When the final bell rang, Alex packed up his supplies and slipped out of the room before the other students had really begun to move and disappeared, once again leaving Tom alone behind him. The teen packed his things up much more slowly than the rest of his classmates as he mulled over the changes in his best friend's behavior.

Alex had always been private and a bit unapproachable, but before his uncle's death it hadn't stopped him from being popular and well knew that he was the one that had taken care of the bullies behind the bike shed four years ago and no one had dared to follow in their footsteps until Alex's absences had caused them to grow bold once again.

Now, Alex was actively pushing everyone away, even Tom. The death had never been more evident in his eyes and he had never looked more dangerous. Tom knew that Alex was making no effort to mask his deadlier side and he knew that only something as big as Sabina's betrayal could effect him enough to make him shut down that way. Despite his friend's impeccable emotional control, Tom couldn't help but feel that one day it would all become too much, and as he left the deserted classroom, he shuddered to think of what would happen when that day came.

***

Despite the fact that he was still recovering from his injuries Alex attended football practice after school. Rather than sitting uselessly on the bench, he opted to help the coach out, lending his expertise where he saw fit and giving advise to the younger players. As one of the co-captains of the team, the other players looked up to him with respect and as far as Alex was concerned, helping the other players improve was a better option than adding to his already copious amounts of free time. He already had enough in which to dwell on what had happened.

Even as he set his mind on helping his teammates, Alex rarely spoke, doling out his advice in as few words as possible. Never once did his expression deviate from the blank mask that he had worn throughout the school day, and it was undoubtedly unnerving to the other members of his team. They were jumpier than usual around him, fumbling in their haste to put his advice to practice under his discerning eye. The stoic but still confident young man that they knew had been replaced by an icy and unapproachable field operative, and nobody yet knew how to take the change.

The sun was setting by the time Alex left the football pitch and made his way to his car. He sighed heavily as he slipped into the sleek black vehicle and revved the engine. His first day back at school had been psychologically exhausting, and he knew that it was unlikely to improve. The drive home was short, despite London's usually terrible traffic and all too soon, Alex was left to his own devices in his large, empty Chelsea home.

Alex sighed again as he deposited his keys on the hall table and walked into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on lights as he went. He ignored the flashing light on the answering machine as he opened the refrigerator. Searching for something to eat. He soon sat down at the table with a cold-cut sandwich in hand and began working through the massive amounts of homework that had piled up in his absence. Despite the large amount, he had managed to catch up in his languages, maths, and physics before he finally pushed away from the table. The fact that he was able to catch up so quickly was one of the few things that had redeemed him in the eyes of his teachers during his years of secrecy and it was something he was not about to abandon now. It was one of the many reasons that he was once again thankful that his IQ was far above average.

He stretched his good arm over his head, feeling his joints pop as he glanced at the clock. 2 a.m. Alex sighed as he stood, gathered up his books and placed his backpack by the door. He shut off the lights in the kitchen and ascended the stairs in darkness. He didn't even bother to change before he threw himself down in his bed and fell into a restless sleep.

***

Three hours later Alex awoke from a nightmare and rolled quickly out of bed, running for the bathroom. He narrowly made it to his destination as he expelled the contents of the previous day's dinner into the toilet bowl. When there was nothing left to expel, he continued to dry-heave as his body reacted violently to the memories that had plagued him in his sleep. Eventually, the heaving stopped and Alex slid down against the wall, his head hanging between his knees as he squeezed his eyes shut in desperate frustration.

His nightmares had returned with a vengeance in the aftermath of the events in Irkutsk, bombarding him with gruesome memories of his past assignments. There was no pattern to the madness, besides the fact that each was a conglomerate of the worst and most terrifying moments of his life.

Alex gritted his teeth in frustration as he thumped his head rather forcefully back against the wall. Every night since his return two weeks ago had ended the same way, with him bent over the toilet, unable to hold anything down as the memories flooded his mind. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept for more than six hours a night in almost five months, and with the nightmares added on, it was now even less and the lack of real sleep was beginning to get to him.

Eventually, Alex slowly picked himself off the floor, flushed the toilet, and started the shower, knowing that he would get no more sleep that night. He stripped off of his crumpled cloths from the day before and stepped under the scalding hot spray, wishing that the water could wash the images from his mind as easily as it washed away the previous day's grime.

Alex barely flinched as the hot water pounded down on his back and made his fresh wounds sting and burn. He was lost in the memories of everything that had happened since his return.

The Hercules stealth carrier had transported the team back to Stuggart Air Force Base from which he had been immediately admitted to the hospital to receive a more comprehensive treatment for his wounds. The team was then debriefed before they went their separate ways, each heading back to their respective countries. They were informed that the Special Forces coalition had been equally successful in their assault of Malogosto and a few other strategically chosen Scorpia bases throughout the world and the organization was in shambles— as it would remain for some time. The goodbyes had been a blur of firm handshakes and "great work's." He could tell that the others were wary of him, noticing that he had yet to relax, as they had, into a post-assignment state of mind—he still hadn't, and he wondered if he ever would.

The flight back to the UK had been as silent as the previous one as K-Unit continued to walk on eggshells around him and he retreated further into his thoughts. They had gone directly from the airbase to SIS(1) headquarters on the Thames where they had been debriefed in front of the heads of MI6 and Special Ops, and the Minister for Defense after which there had been a private awards ceremony where the queen herself had awarded him the Victoria Cross, the nation's highest military honor, for "services to the country." The praise meant little to Alex, few would ever know what he and his team members had done for the world and even fewer would realize that it had cost the remainder of his humanity.

Blunt had insisted on debriefing him personally immediately after the ceremony, so Alex had once again found himself in the office on the sixteenth floor of the Royal and General, accounting for everything he had done in the past month in excruciating detail. Every conversation, every revelation, every covert maneuver, every pull of the trigger was relived and documented. Blunt had informed him afterwards that they _had _uncovered a mole, but Alex couldn't bring himself to feel the justification that he once might have. He had left Liverpool Street at four in the morning, physically and psychologically exhausted. The debriefing had finished the transformation that had started when he pulled the trigger for the last time in Irkutsk, putting the final brick in the wall that cut him off from his emotions and through them, the outside world(2).

The next two weeks had been filled with meetings with the heads of state of each of the nations of the coalition. Each had wanted to personally congratulate him as the leader of the group who had pulled the world back from the edge of a crisis. The Russian president had also requested a private meeting with him in order to thank him for his work in breaking up the new communist bloc. The capitol had already been moved back to Moscow and Alex had sat in the president's opulent office, trying to reign in the memories while doing his best to look as if he was giving the Russian leader his undivided attention before he got out of Russia as fast as he could. There had been more private awards ceremonies at each meeting, which he endured with all of the civility he could muster. He hadn't done what he had done for the honor or the medals; all they were to him were reminders of something he wished to forget.

The hardest meeting by far had been with Sabina's parents. He had flown out to visit them in LA the previous Sunday, knowing that they deserved at least a one-on-one talk with him about what had happened. He had decided even before he had boarded the C-130 in Irkutsk that it was best if they never found out what had truly happened in their daughter's last moments, something that he had made clear when he had talked to Byrne; after all the Pleasures had been through, they didn't need a tainted image of their daughter.

Alex remembered the meeting with burning clarity, and he knew that his last meeting with Sabina's parents would forever be seared into his memory.

***

_The mid-afternoon LA sun shone bright and hot as Alex pulled his rented SUV up to the curb outside a picturesque suburban home in the city's urban sprawl. The lawn was perfectly manicured and the heat resistant plants that lined the pathway to the door had thrived under a gardener's nurturing hands. Light illuminated the house through its many windows, and the house seemed to exude an enduring serenity._

_It was evident though, that under the calm façade, the house was filled with a much darker feeling. Even the air that surrounded the house was stifling in its stillness, as if all life had come to a standstill beyond the threshold. Faint sobs could be heard from the bowels of the house, growing louder as Alex approached the front door with a heavy heart. _

_Alex stood hesitating for a moment on the doorstep, gathering the courage to face the parents of the person he had once cared for. Despite the fact that he could no longer claim to feel for their daughter, Alex knew that, locked deep in his mind where he couldn't feel it, that he did indeed feel guilty for what had happened. He knew that he held some measure of responsibility for Sabina's choices and direct responsibility for her death. _

_After a few more moments of hesitation, Alex took a deep breath and tentatively knocked on the door. The sobbing inside abruptly stopped and there was a moment of silence before the door slowly opened to reveal the haggard, unshaven form of Edward Pleasure. The older man looked up in surprise at Alex for a moment before he stepped aside for Alex to enter and extended his hand. _

"_Alex," he murmured, his voice hoarse from grief._

"_Mr. Pleasure," Alex answered, the volume of his voice matching the older man's as he grasped his hand firmly. "I thought it was best if we had a chance to talk face to face."_

_Edward nodded shakily, letting out an unsteady breath as he turned to lead Alex further into the house, motioning for the young spy to follow. He stopped on the threshold of a large, open plan living room, but even the light that streamed through the bay windows on the far wall was not enough to brighten the room's dark atmosphere. Mrs. Pleasure sat on the couch, surrounded by a sea of tissues as she sobbed quietly for her dead daughter. _

"_Honey," Edward called quietly, as to not startle her, "Alex is here to talk to us." _

_Elizabeth Pleasure looked up, startled by Alex's name. She stood up shakily from her spot on the couch and tottered unsteadily over towards the two men to envelop Alex in a tight hug. He felt the faint echoes of guilt in the recesses of his mind as he gently hugged her back, knowing that she was unknowingly seeking comfort from her daughter's killer._

"_Alex," she whispered. "Come in and sit down." She motioned to the pair of chairs situated across from the couch. Alex settled into one of the plush reading chairs as the Pleasures sat down together across from him, putting the glass coffee table between them. After a quiet spent studying the people across from him, Alex sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he ironed his face tiredly with his hands._

"_What happened Alex?" Edward finally asked quietly, and Alex could hear the trepidation in his voice as he prepared to lean how his only child had died. Alex sighed again and raised his head. He chose to direct his unfocused stare at a point just over Edward's left shoulder as he began to tell Sabina's parents as much of the truth as he could, bar reliving the final seconds of her life. _

"_Our first three-and-a-half months in Irkutsk were spent gathering intel and destabilizing the government from the inside," he began. "We knew that if we moved in for Sabina too early, we would put the entire operation at risk and we were only going to get one shot. Either way, it took a while to find out where they were keeping her."_

_Alex paused, focusing his gaze on the two people in front of them as he waited for the realization that their daughter had been in captivity for months without interference to sink in. Elizabeth seemed to curl into herself even more at the though of all the time that the terrorist organization had had to torture her daughter and Edward nodded in understanding after taking a shaky breath, motioning for Alex to continue._

_Alex refocused his attention on the wall behind Sabina's parents as he began to speak, once again becoming lost in the memory. _"_The last day of the operation, everything was in motion to bring the government crashing down by sunrise. The majority of the team had already evaced to the RV while K-Unit stayed behind as technical support while I tied up all the loose ends. The objective was simple; get in, take out Kuznetsov and any other Scorpia operatives, find Sab, and get out. The infiltration went smoothly, but I was suspicious. There was too little security and I knew that at some point I would walk into whatever trap they had set for me. Things didn't start to go downhill until I found her. As I had suspected, they were using her as bait, and they had an ambush waiting for me when I arrived."_

_Alex paused for a moment, wondering how to proceed. He had kept his story so far composed of careful half-truths and he knew that he had to proceed with his account of the events with caution as he neared their culmination. His though was interrupted by the Liz's scratchy voice, muted by grief and pain._

"_How did she die?" she asked shakily, and Alex hesitated before answering._

"_She was shot," he said quietly after a moment. He plowed on, ignoring the shuddering gasps that came from Mrs. Pleasure at the revelation. "In the head. She wouldn't have felt a thing." He stopped talking and truly focused on the two people in front of him for the first time as Liz once again dissolved into a sobbing mess. His eyes met Edward's and he noticed the silent tears streaming down the man's face._

"_Thank you," the Edward said gruffly as he held on tightly to his grieving wife. "Thank you for telling us that."_

_Alex nodded solemnly, knowing that if the knew exactly what had happened, they wouldn't be thanking him, but looking at the two of them, already overwhelmed by the grief of loosing a child they couldn't even bury, he knew he had made the right choice in not telling them. _

_After a few more quiet moments, Alex stood and prepared to leave. He paused for a moment as he reached the threshold of the room, looking back at the Pleasures for the last time. _

"_This is the last time you'll see me," he said. "It'll be safer for you if we don't keep in contact. I loved your daughter, and I'm sorry that her involvement with me cut her life so short." _

_Alex left without another word, stepping out into the dry heat of the California afternoon and disappearing as if he was no more than a passing vision._

_***_

Alex shuddered as he came back to the present, belatedly realizing that the water had begun to run cold. He stopped the flow and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and walking back to his room without bothering to look at his reflection, his final words to Sabina's parents still ringing in his ears. He hadn't been lying exactly—he _had _loved her, in his own way, but all feelings toward her had erased when her betrayal had been revealed. And he _did_ regret that her involvement with his double life had driven her to such extremes, but she had become an operative of the other side, and it was his job to eliminate them.

Alex dressed slowly before descending the stairs, making his way to the kitchen and grabbing a half empty box of cereal. He noticed the still blinking light on the answering machine as he moved to sit down at the table and paused for a moment, his finger hovering over the playback button before he sighed and deleted the messages. He quickly ate his breakfast and returned to his room to finish preparing for the day ahead.

***

Everyone had noticed the marked change in Alex the moment that he had stepped out of his car his first day he had returned to Brookland, but it was only over the following weeks that they began to realize its depth. Alex had never been verbose, but now, he was almost silent. The hard, cold, blank look never left his face and there was a new intensity around him that kept others walking on eggshells in his presence. He avoided all necessary social contact, even pulling away from Tom as he retreated deeper and deeper into himself; he tackled his coursework with unnecessary fervor, catching up on all the missed work at an unprecedented rate, even for him; and when he wasn't in class, he threw himself into athletics, training longer and harder than any other member of the football team.

The weeks passed in a monotonous blur as Alex quickly established a new routine in the wake of his return and its intensity was only increased when the bandages that had hindered him were finally removed. Every morning he would arrive at school before any of the other students, heading directly to the school's weight room to complete a circuit on the machines. He would arrive at homeroom seconds before the warning bell rang and he would give his teachers his undivided attention in class. Lunches were spent in the gym, away from the wary stares and whispers of the other students, first doing hundreds of pushups and crunches before he moved on to katas and combat techniques. Afternoon classes passed similarly to the morning, as he spoke only when spoken to directly and he would head straight to the football pitch the moment the last bell rang.

Alex had always been one of the best players on the team, but with his newfound fervor and no need for secrecy among his peers holding him back, he quickly surpassed the others in speed and skill. He worked harder and longer than any member of the team, pushing his body further, to the points of even his endurance, never once letting a complaint pass his lips or betraying a single emotion. Almost everyone in the school regarded him with something close to fearful hero worship. He was the model student and the star athlete with more than a hint of danger added in.

What they didn't know was that on the inside, Alex was dangerously close to falling apart.

Alex's rate of catch up was due to the fact that he would stay up well past midnight doing his homework, hoping that when he finally fell into bed between two and three that he would be exhausted enough to escape the nightmares. Despite his efforts, he still found himself heaving into the toilet three to four hours later due the horrific scenes that continued to plague him. Nobody would be able to tell, but he was quickly reaching his endurance point. He was running himself into the ground with lack of sleep and all the physical strain that he was putting himself under, and it was doing nothing to stop the emotions that beat against the wall in his mind with greater force every day, desperate to be free.

In the time since Alex had returned to Brookland, his body had been restored to top physical condition. His wounds had healed enough that they no longer gave him more than the occasional twinge of pain, which he could easily ignore, and due to his sessions before, during, and after school he was in some of the best physical shape of his life. He had kept his skills sharp by spending most Saturdays at his local dojo—though he refused to spar—and he had taken to spending time each weekend at the shooting range on MI6's basement level, though he tried to avoid the other agents as much as possible, not wanting to see the respect and sympathy in their eyes.

Seven weeks after his return, Alex woke on a Monday, once again screaming himself hoarse and made his usual sprint to the bathroom. It was just after five o'clock and when he had finished his morning routine and he still had time to kill before school. With nothing else to do, Alex wandered back into the kitchen and paused at the answering machine, its red light blinking with unlistened to messages from the day before, and debated with himself, as he did every morning, about listening to the calls that he had been avoiding for so long. He let out a long drawn out sigh before he pushed the playback button and sat down at the table to listen to the worried voices of his teammates.

"_Hey Cub, it's Wolf. It's been a while since we've heard from you and we're all wondering how you're doing over here at Beacons. You know we'll be there for you when ever you're ready to talk. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that K-Unit is getting deployed out to Afghanistan again in a couple of weeks. We'll be thinking about you though…" _Wolf's gruff voice was the first to sound through the quiet kitchen as Alex let the words wash over him. Dimly in the back of his mind, he registered the SAS soldiers words and he hoped that they would be alright _"Cub, it's Snake. I heard from a friend the other day that you haven't been seeing you psychologist…."_ It was true: he hadn't been. As much as he knew it was necessary, he hated having someone trying to pick his brain apart and with the condition he was in, a shrink's questions would only be met with evasion and silence. _"… Alex, it's Edward. Just calling to see how you're doing. Call me back when you get the chance…" _Edward… Tamara… Julia… Colden… Eagle… Nicole… Ed…. Lastly, Ben; _"Alex, I saw you the other day at the R&G. Shit man, what are you doing to yourself? You know you can talk to us, right? No one's heard from you in over two months and we're all worried. Don't shut us out okay?"_

Alex sighed heavily. He knew it wasn't fair to his team that he was ignoring their calls—they were only looking out for him—but he didn't want to talk about what had happened, especially to the people who had witnessed his response so soon after everything had gone down. He grimaced when Ben's comments had brought the memories of the weekend and how close he had come to cracking flooding back.

***

_Alex parked his Aston Martin outside the dojo at 6:00 am. He could see that his sensei, the owner, was just unlocking the doors and setting up for the day. Alex stalked silently toward the door, startling the old Japanese man with his presence. _

_Sensei Yamamoto jumped slightly when the eighteen-year-old suddenly appeared beside him. He was unnerved by the silence of Alex's approach. "Christ, Alex!" He exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" _

"_My apologies, sensei," Alex replied, his voice deep and smooth. It seemed to melt into the half-light of the early morning, just as its owner melted into the shadows. Sensei Yamamoto shivered slightly at the sound of Alex's voice. Though Alex was undoubtedly sincere there was something about him that was menacing as they stood in the near darkness of a quiet Saturday morning. The old man shook off the feeling as he unlocked the dojo and flicked on the lights, holding the door open to let Alex enter after him. _

_Alex had headed straight to the back room to change into his ghi, leaving the old master in the front room wondering what had brought about the changes his best student. Although Alex's attendance had been erratic for the past four years, the changes had become evident about nine months after the absences began. Alex had returned to classes and, despite his absences, began climbing through the black belt ranks at an alarming rate. Though he was only fourteen, he had passed with ease through all of the junior black belt ranks and Sensei Yamamoto had made the executive decision to allow him into the adult ranks years ahead of schedule. _

_Sensei Yamamoto would have been lying if he had said that Alex did not intimidate him. It had not taken long for the teenager to surpass his own rank of fifth _dan_ and he found the rate of Alex's skill progression to be unnerving. In addition to Karate, Alex had also picked up seven other forms of martial arts in which he had risen thought the ranks just as quickly in such a short amount of time. He wondered what caused the young man to come back colder and more retreated with each disappearance, and what he could be doing during that time that would improve his combat skills so greatly. _

_Sensei Yamamoto watched as Alex returned from the back room, wearing his white ghi and black belt with eight white stripes on the left end, and began warming up. It had been the same every Saturday since Alex had returned from his last absence. Alex would spend the entire day at the dojo, from opening to closing, running through katas and skills. He wouldn't talk to the other patrons or engage them in anyway and would ignore those who approached him. Alex began an advanced kata, becoming entirely absorbed in his movements as Sensei Yamamoto watched him. The old man had to admit that he was mesmerizing to watch. His form was tuned to perfection and his movement was lethal in its speed and fluidity. _

_After an immeasurable amount of time a low chime rang through the space, signaling that another patron had entered the dojo and Sensei Yamamoto snapped out of his thoughts and began preparing for his first lesson of the day._

_*_

_It was late evening and the children's, white, and colored belt classes had come and gone. Sensei Yamamoto was beginning to wrap up his class for adult brown belts and black belts— the students in this class ranged from their late teens to men older than himself. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Alex was still practicing katas in his own corner of the dojo. He had hardly rested since he had begun that morning and his ghi were drenched in sweat, providing unmistakable evidence of his exertion. _

_Sensei Yamamoto called his class together, halting the various sparing matches that were taking place. He dismissed them and was soon after approached by one of the older men who had been a student of his from a very young age, but he saw from the corner of his eye that one of the younger black belts and his group of friends had moved to approach Alex. _

_Alex had heard Sensei Yamamoto dismiss the brown and black belts as he went through the motions of a kata that was from the Russian martial art known as Systema, the fighting style used by the Spetsnaz, the elite of the Russian military. The post class chatter washed over him as most of the students began to leave. A few remained to talk to Yamamoto or practice their skills independently. He caught sight of a group of students around his age moving to approach him and he noticed that none of the students in the group went to Brookland. Alex recognized their leader as Mark Russell, a nineteen-year-old first _dan_ who had been Alex's greatest competition before his uncle's death nearly four years ago. Even from a distance, Alex could tell that the boy still exuded extreme cockiness as strongly as he had all those years ago. All too soon, the group was standing on the edge of his practice space. A few of them were watching him in awe, but Mark was on a mission. _

"_Rider," he called out, "How come you never spar anymore?" Alex didn't answer as he started his next kata, sparking the annoyance of the older boy. "I can't understand how Sensei could rank someone like you and eighth degree black belt when you're too scared to fight anyone," Mark jeered, trying unsuccessfully to bait Alex into fighting. It was a match the older boy had been looking forward to for a long time. When Alex continued to ignore him, Mark lost his patience and moved in front of Alex as he was practicing his kata, striking out with a punch, and that was when Alex finally made his move. _

_Sensei Yamamoto watched in trepidation as the group's leader, Mark, taunted Alex, fishing for a fight. He watched as Mark moved to engage the younger boy and decided that it was time to intervene, but even as he stepped forward and opened his mouth to call out, Mark had moved to punch Alex and in the blink of an eye, Alex had Mark in a choke hold. It was evident from the way Mark's face was slowly turning red and his hands looked for purchase on Alex's forearm, that Alex was using no small amount of force. Sensei Yamamoto watched as Alex leaned forward to whisper in Mark's ear, causing the blood to drain from the older teen's face. Alex released Mark, and the older boy walked away quickly, not looking back as he exited the dojo, his friends following slowly behind him. His eyes flickered back towards Alex just in time to see him slip into the back room. _

_The dojo was almost deserted when Alex returned fifteen minutes later, dressed in street cloths. He bowed to his teacher and began making his way to the door as Sensei Yamamoto began to close up for the night. He was stopped however, by his Sensei's soft voice. _

"_Alex," the old man called out, his eyes trained on where the young man's shirt had caught on something on his back, "Is that a gun?" _

_Alex tensed for a moment before he turned around, straightening his shirt as he did so. He looked surreptitiously around the dojo and was relieved that the only other person present was a very familiar girl from Brookland Comprehensive that was already in the know. "Yes," he replied evenly and then smiled slightly at the mix of emotions that crossed his sensei's expression, though Sensei noticed that the smile seemed mechanical did not reach his eyes. "I'm licensed, to carry it," he added, anticipating the older man's next question before it was asked. _

_Sensei Yamamoto frowned, "Was it necessary to bring it here?" he asked, upset that anyone would bring a gun to his establishment. _

"_Trust me sir when I say it's better for everyone if I never go anywhere without it." Alex could see that the older man was far from appeased by his answer, but was willing to drop the subject._

"_What did you say to Mark?"_

_Again, Alex's lips twitched into a grim smile that again, didn't reach his eyes. "I told him, that given my current state of mind, if I fought him, I would have killed him without hesitation or remorse."_

_Sensei Yamamoto inhaled a sharp hiss of air in shock. "Did you mean it?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. _

"_Yes," Alex sighed. "I meant it. Right now, psychologically, I'm not in a good place."_

"_What happened to you Alex?" Yamamoto asked, brokenly. Alex looked at the older man and smiled sadly._

"_I'm sorry sir, but I can't tell you that."_

**So Alex is clearly in a pretty bad place right now with no idea how to deal with it, but eventually he's going to have to stop existing and start living again and he's going to have to find a way to cope with everything that's happened. The question is, how bad will things get before he finally deals with it all? You can see, especially towards the end of this chapter, that as Alex's emotional control slips, he begins to say and do things that he never normally would. **

**(1) SIS: Secret Intelligence Service (basically MI6). I sometimes find it helpful to be reminded that MISO is only a ****_division_ of MI6, not the entire organization. **

**(2) You may or may not have caught the reference to Pink Floyd's Narrative Album ****_The Wall_. Alex's reaction to the betrayal is very similar to the Protagonist, Pink's, state of mind(its all about the psychological walls we construct). Amazing Album, I would definitely recommend it. The Movie/Rock Opera is great too, though its got enough sexual imagery (direct and indirect) to be in the NC17 range. **

** Tell me what you think!**

** TheUlmuri**


	10. Part IX: Endurance Point

**Thanks for all of the great reviews!**

**A lot of you have been asking if we are going to see any more of Alex's unit or colleagues and the answer is no. As much as they are good choices to stage an intervention and pul Alex out of his state, its time for Alex's friends to step up to the plate and be there for him, something that we will be seeing in the next chapter or two.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough Said.**

Part IX: Endurance Point

Alex had spent an extra hour at the shooting range the next day trying unsuccessfully to relieve the build up of emotions that desperately wanted to break free. He had come so close to snapping Mark's neck in the dojo that night—it had taken all of the restraint he had left to stop himself at a tight chokehold and to let the boy go. When he had treated to the back room, his hands had been visibly shaking with the effort that it had taken him and that lack of control scared him. He had noticed that Ben was there watching him while he was at the shooting range, but he had made no move to acknowledge him and Ben had not approached. He had seen the lines of worry etched on the man's face, but he knew that he was in no condition to talk. His pent up emotions were beginning to eat him alive.

Alex sighed as he came back to the present. He checked his watch, noticing that it was now an appropriate time for him to leave for school. More time than he had thought had passed while he had gotten lost in his memories and he would now make it to school with minutes to spare. It was fine with him—the team had a game after school and he had planned on skipping his morning lift to conserve energy anyway. He slowly pushed away from the table and made his way to the door, grabbing his car keys from the hall table as he went.

Twenty minutes later, Alex pulled into his spot in the parking lot and swiftly made his way to the school. Thankfully, the whispers and staring had lessened in the months since his return and there were few to notice his arrival in the near empty lot. He swiftly made his way to homeroom and took his place beside Tom.

"Hey, Al," his best friend said warily, and Alex nodded back silently in greeting, not missing the slight disappointed slump in Tom's posture and the quiet sigh. He knew he was hurting his best and only friend by shutting him out, but he couldn't find it in him to fight the reflex to pull away from everyone in the aftermath of what had happened. He wasn't a fool though; he knew his actions were straining their friendship to its breaking point.

Alex's neck prickled with the feeling of being watched. At this point it was a feeling that he had gotten used to, but the majority of the class had stopped staring weeks ago and was focusing on the teacher's lecture, so he sighed and turned to face the person whose gaze was boring into his back. His eyes immediately locked with the piercing blue and genuinely concerned gaze of Katie Windsor. Her gaze was searching, as if she was trying to look beyond the façade that he had projected for so long. As she looked at him, Alex felt as if the hairline fractures that already weakened his walls were beginning to connect and grow, and he turned quickly to face the front of the room, breaking her intense gaze.

After a few steadying breaths, Alex looked down to find that his hands were shaking from his effort to keep himself together and his mind wandered from the lecture. Katie and her boyfriend Brent were two of the few people that Alex had reconnected with after his secrets had been exposed when the school had been attacked the previous spring. Sabina's betrayal had caused him to push all of his friends away, damaging his revived and still fragile friendships with them once again. He knew that they were still waiting in the wings for him to push through his issues, since he wouldn't talk to them, but he wondered if there would ever come a time where he would ever be able to let his friends back in.

Katie and Brent were both scarily intuitive and it hadn't surprised Alex when the two of them had started dating a year and a half previously—they were two of a kind; intelligent, insightful, and more mature than the average teenager. He knew that if anyone was going to see through the failing front that he was putting up it would be one of them. Tom might be the person who he was closest to, but he was nowhere near as good at reading people as the other two were.

Alex sat stiffly throughout the remainder of the lesson, anxious to get out from under Katie's discerning gaze. It didn't help his case that Katie had seen his lapse in control at the dojo over the weekend and he wondered, in the corner of his mind that wasn't taken up with his effort to keep himself together, if she knew just ho close he was to cracking.

Alex was out of his seat the moment that bell sounded, signaling the end of the lesson. His jaw was clenched tight from the effort of his acute restraint as he made his way quickly through the halls and slipped into the nearest restroom. He found himself in front of the row of sinks, his hands gripping the edge of one of them tightly as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He took several deep breaths, trying to get the emotions that were beginning to leak through his weakening defenses back under control. He hated this. He hated felling so mentally weak and exhausted and out of control. His lock on his emotions was slipping and he hated feeling as if he had to run from them in order to keep them in check, because if there was one thing that Alex Rider never did it was turn tail and run.

Dimly, Alex heard the bell sound again, warning students that second period was beginning, but he ignored it, still desperately trying to get his breathing and emotions under control. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring at his reflection, and he hated what he saw. He barely recognized the face that stared out at him from the mirror. Physically, there was no difference— save the long scar that ran from temple to chin on the left side of his face— a gruesome reminder of his last hours in Russia— but the Alex he saw in the mirror, despite all his strength, was the weakest he had ever been.

Irrational anger suddenly bubbled up inside of him and before he could think, Alex had smashed his fist into the mirror, causing it to splinter into a million pieces. The sharp sound of breaking glass brought him back to his senses, causing the anger to fade as quickly as it had come, leaving him cold and empty once again. Alex sighed backing up until his back hit the wall behind him and he slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his fist, riddled with lacerations from the broken mirror cradled to his chest while his other elbow rested on his knees. His head fell back to rest against the wall with a dull thump.

Alex closed his eyes and sighed, internally cursing himself for his lapse of control. He heard quick footsteps in the corridor and knew that the noise of the shattering mirror had drawn the attention of the teachers. Soon after the headmaster's polished black dress shoes came into view and stopped a few feet away from him. A few moments of silence passed as Mr. Bray observed the scene before him, taking in the broken mirror and Alex's slumped figure and bloody knuckles.

"A-Alex?" he asked tentatively after another moment of silence. "Is everything alright?"

Alex inhaled another deep breath as he schooled his expression into its usual emotionless mask with some effort. He could feel the minute release of tension in his muscles as his mask slid back in place, leaving him cold and unfeeling. He slowly cracked his eyes open and met the nervous gaze of his headmaster. "Everything is fine, sir," he lied evenly as he got to his feet. He glanced over at the damaged mirror as he picked up his discarded bag. "I'm sorry about the mirror, I'll send you a check for its replacement," he added and left the bathroom, heading to his class without a backwards glance and leaving Mr. Bray confused and worried behind him.

***

Tom was sitting in his maths class, dejectedly contemplating his crumbling friendship with Alex when the classroom door opened and a haggard and exhausted Mr. Bray poked his head into the room, interrupting Mr. Donovan's lecture on the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus.

"Tom," he called quietly. "May I talk to you for a moment?"

Tom ignored the teasing and banter of his classmates speculating on what he could have done as he gathered his things and followed the headmaster out of the room. The trip the Mr. Bray's office was silent, as each of them was preoccupied with their individual thoughts. Mr. Bray opened the door to his office, holding it open for Tom to enter before he stepped inside himself and closed the door behind him. He remained silent as he walked around the desk and sat facing his student.

Eventually, tome broke the tense silence with a heavy sigh. "What was it that you wanted to talk to me about, sir?" he asked, his voice tired and worn, very different from the energetic, carefree boy the headmaster was used to dealing with,

"It's about Alex," the headmaster admitted, noticing how the teen's seemed to tense as the mention of his best friend. "I'm worried about him. I think we all have a pretty good idea of what he was doing while he was gone two months ago, but I have a feeling that there's much more going on, and to be honest, I'm worried about how he's dealing with it."

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he debated what to say. He could tell that the man was genuinely concerned for his best friend, but he would never dream of betraying Alex's confidence, no matter how strained their friendship became. _Besides_, he thought, _how much can I tell him when I barely know what happened myself?_

"Look," he sighed, averting his gaze away from the headmaster's stare. "All I know is that something happened in Russia, and that shit really hit the fan. And hit him hard. I don't know anything else. He hasn't really been talking to me but it doesn't take a genius to tell he's built a wall between himself and his emotions."

"Isn't there anything anyone can do?" Mr. Bray asked, alarmed by the teen's assessment.

Tom let out a hollow laugh in response to the headmaster's question. "I can guarantee you that no one is going to get past that wall unless Alex wants them to and, to be perfectly honest, Mr. Bray, I may be his best friend, but even I'm not sure if I want to be anywhere near him when that wall comes crashing down because I can tell you right now that it's not going to be pretty."

***

Alex had managed to get his emotions back under firm control by the time the last bell rang. He quickly made his way to the team locker rooms located basement level of the school, ignoring the crowds of excited students that filled the halls in anticipation of the afternoon's football match against their schools biggest rival. The rest of the team trickled in at a slower pace, taking time to chat with friends and supporters, but soon the room was buzzing with pre-match energy. Brookland Comprehensive's rivalry with East River Academy was as old as the school itself, and it was already evident that tensions during the match would be running high.

The team finished changing quickly and trickled up the stairs that lead directly to the school's football pitch, but Alex stayed behind. He sat unmoving on a bench beside his locker, still dressed in his everyday cloths, wondering if he could still trust himself to stay in control when tensions during the match would be running high. He heard the soft clatter of cleats on concrete before the tall, dark figure of Brent Ames, the team's other captain, turned the corner into his isle of lockers.

"You coming Al?" he asked, seeing that his co-captain had yet to move.

Alex gave Brent a short nod before he turned and opened his locker and began pulling out his equipment. "I'll be right out," he said. Brent hesitated for a moment, looking as if there was something he wanted to ask before he sighed softly, nodding in acquiescence as he turned away. Alex relaxed slightly once he was sure that Brent was gone. In many ways, the two of them were similar in personality. Off the field, the nineteen-year-old was quiet and reserved, almost stoic. He wasn't one to speak up, but when he did, he was always listened to due to the intelligence and clarity of his comments. On the sports field he transformed into a different person— a brilliant tactician with the authority and skills to match and one of the best goalkeepers the school had ever seen. Everyone respected him, which was why it came as no surprise to Alex that Brent was elected to the second of the team's two captain spots. While he genuinely liked the guy, Brent's extreme perceptivity to the emotions of others tended to put Alex on edge, especially in his current situation.

Alex changed slowly, using the quiet of the deserted locker room to focus his mind and prepare himself mentally for the game, making sure that the cracks and weaknesses that had begun to spring up in his emotional wall had been properly reinforced.

Raised voices from right outside the locker room began to float down the stairs as Alex tightly laced up his boots and taped his guards in place. He sighed as they became increasingly loud and heated and decided that it was time to intervene. He grabbed his red and black jersey from its place on the bench beside him and slipped his captain's armband onto his left wrist as he made his way across the locker room and up the stairs.

As Alex ascended into the sunlight, he was confronted with what could only be the beginnings of a classic schoolyard fight. Players from both teams stood in a loose circle egging on four players that stood in the center, throwing taunts at each other and beginning to bring the confrontation to a physical level. He noticed that the coaches were locked in their own heated debate some distance away and that the officials were absorbed in their own pre-match discussion. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel the beginnings of frustration and annoyance begging to be let out of their glass cage, but he pushed them aside as he ascended the final few stairs and came to stand on the edge of the ring.

Alex immediately recognized his teammates in the center of the ring to be Brian Parker and Jacob Welsh, two of the team's more volatile members. He also noticed, with a strong spike of repressed annoyance, that Mark Russell, the teen from the dojo, was one of the two East River boys at the center of the confrontation.

Brent stood at the top of the stairs, looking on with a frown of disapproval on his face. Tom stood beside him, watching the progression of the confrontation with mild interest, but knowing it was better not to get involved. They both looked over as Alex came to stand next to them. It was Brent who broke the silence that hung over the small group, his green eyes glinting with disappointment in his teammates. "It was too far gone by the time I got up here," he said. "They respect me, but it looks like it's going to take a lot more than respect to disarm this situation."

Alex sighed heavily, agreeing with Brent's assessment as he turned his attention back to the brewing fight in front of him. The group in the center was beginning to push each other around and Alex knew that if the situation wasn't dealt with soon, it would become unmanageable. He slung his jersey over his shoulders and forced himself to relax as he started to make his way towards the center of the circle.

The taunting in his vicinity immediately quieted as the spectators became aware of his presence, alerting others and causing the silence to ripple through the group. Alex stalked through the ring of teens without a word. Those in his way immediately moved to make room for him to pass, intimidated by the sight of his scarred body and the steel in his eyes. Usually he would take the time to hide his body from others for the purpose of being discrete, but in that moment, as he tried to reign in his growing aggravation, he could no longer find it in himself to care. Alex soon found himself standing beside the fours boys in the center. He fixed his unwavering gaze on them in silence until each of them seemed to cower and shrink under its intensity. Finally, he broke the tense silence.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" he asked, his voice deadly even and as cold as ice.

"N-no," Brian stammered after a moment in which each of the teens seemed to scramble for something to say.

Alex's eyes flickered to his teammates for a moment before they locked with Mark's defiant gaze. He seemed to have gotten over the scare that Alex had given him over the weekend and was determined to prove his superiority, but Alex could still see the flickers of uncertainty in his eyes as the teen's gaze wandered over the various scars on Alex's face and upper body.

"Then I expect you all to return to your benches," he replied in a tone that left no room for argument. The crowd immediately broke up as players from both teams hurried to comply with Alex's demands, leaving Tom and the two Brookland captains standing in silence behind them. Alex locked eyes with the other two and jerked his head towards the team's bench and the small group slowly followed the rest of the team. Alex slipped on his jersey as they walked, and pulled his armband into place around his upper arm.

When they arrived at the bench, Alex noticed that many of his teammates had smug smiles on their faces, satisfied with how Alex was able to intimidate the other team. "You can wipe those smiles of your faces," he reprimanded harshly as Tom joined the others on the bench and Brent came to stand beside him. His teammates' expressions immediately turned to wariness as they faced him. "You all know better than to let you opponents egg you on like that. You're all better than that. And what help would it have been to us if you had gotten a suspension for fighting minutes before the most important game of the season? Frankly, I'm disappointed. I don't care if you play rough, but you cross the line when you start deliberately picking fights with the other team."

Alex's rant ended as their coach finally made his way over to the team bench after wrapping up his own argument with the East River coach. He looked confusedly between the two captains' grim expressions and the abashed ones of their teammates. "Did something happen?" he asked.

"Nothing that wasn't already taken care of," Alex answered as Brent ordered the team off the benches to begin warming up. He quickly finished talking with the coach and caught up with team.

Twenty minutes later, both teams had their starting lineups ready and in position. Brent was ready to direct the back line from his place in the net while Alex was ready to lead the offence and midfield from his position as striker. Mark Russell, East River's striker, stood at mid-field, the ball at his feet and a determined gleam in his eyes. Alex locked eyes with Mark from his place just outside of the center circle, engaging the other striker in an intense stare down and smirked inwardly as he watched Mark's confidence waver under his ice cold gaze. There was a moment of almost absolute calm in which the world seemed to slow before the official lifted the whistle to his lips and the game was underway.

Mark quickly passed the ball to his right wing forward and East River's team immediately surged forward, looking to pierce Brookland's defenses, only to be met with a solid wall of resistance. It was immediately evident that the game was going to be exceptionally dirty. Players on both teams were pulling out all the stops, the school rivalry only fueling the determination of each side. East's attacker quickly taken out with a perfectly timed slide tackle by the Brookland midfield and the team quickly moved into counter attack mode.

Time seemed to go unmarked as the two teams clashed, neither making much headway when it came to penetrating the other's defense and they became lost in a violent dance of attack and counter attack. Alex was holding back, as he always did during games, keeping himself at the same level of play as most of other players in the effort to remain relatively inconspicuous. He knew that he could give his team the edge they needed, but for the moment, it was smarter to hold back for more than just the need to blend in. He knew that not letting the emotionally charged atmosphere of the game get to him was imperative given his state of mind and that would be more difficult to do if he wasn't checking his skills.

Players on both sides were beginning to rack up fouls and yellow cards for rough play. Several times, the official had made a point to intervene, making it clear that he wouldn't hesitate to start handing out red cards if the game didn't stay reasonably clean. The warnings were only enough to stop the very worst of the aggressive play. Brent was maintaining a perfect shutout on the defensive end, but unfortunately, the East River keeper was as well.

The first half ended without either side managing to score and soon the second half had begun, bringing with it an increased intensity. There were now only forty-five minutes to work with to bring the game out of its current deadlock. As he waited for the official's signal, Alex could see the frustration and desperation building up in Mark's eyes and he knew that the East River player would only become more and more volatile as the clock ticked down.

Five minutes into the second half, Alex was fighting to remain in possession of the ball, triple teamed by Mark, the center midfield, and one of the forwards. It was in the mess of grappling limbs and treacherous feet that he felt a very hard, very deliberate elbow come into contact with his chest, just where his first bullet wound was concealed under his jersey. The blow, which, as intended, would look relatively unintentional, sent a sharp shockwave of pain and anger through Alex's system. The intensity of the rage that the East River's striker had induced was overwhelming and Alex felt, almost as if it was a physical occurrence, his carefully reinforced mental walls crack and splinter even as he let out a roar of pain. With a final effort, Alex carried himself and the ball through the mess of limbs and bodies he had been trapped in, only to sink down on one knee, clutching his chest and panting heavily.

He had, of course, seen the elbow approaching—as well as the vindictive gleam in Mark's eyes—but had been in no position to block or stop the blow without resorting to actions that were clearly not within what was legal in football. It was his anger at the clearly deliberate attack, more than anything else, which had cracked his mental walls to their very foundations, damaging them beyond what his exhausted willpower could repair.

Alex dimly heard the whistle and the sound of his approaching teammates as he struggled to control both his breathing and the churning emotions that were leaking through. His whole frame was vibrating with the massive amount of effort involved. Habit had already pushed the pain he was feeling to the back of his mind, but he continued to clutch his chest as his team surrounded him.

"Alex?" Tom asked worriedly, "Are you all right?"

Alex nodded shortly, gritting his teeth together in acute restraint. "I'm fine," he finally managed to grind out. "Just give me a minute and then we can start playing again."

"Where'd he hit you?" Brent asked anxiously. He hadn't seen exactly what the foul was from his position in the box and he was worried about what could cause such a reaction from Alex and what its consequences would be.

"The chest," Alex ground out. "On the left side."

There were hisses of anger and shock from many members of the team in response to Alex's reply. Every one knew what lay beneath his shirt in that general area and they were outraged by the depths that the East River striker would sink to.

"It was that close?" Tom asked worriedly.

The Anger in Alex's voice was unmistakable as he answered. "Direct hit. It was also deliberate."

"What exactly happened?"

Alex chuckled darkly, still looking down at the ground, struggling futilely to get himself back under control. "What happened?" he repeated rhetorically. "Russell getting desperate is what happened. Desperate enough to start pushing his luck." It wasn't lost on any of his teammates that Alex's tone was becoming increasingly dark as he spoke and his body was vibrating more and more violently.

There was a short moment of silence before Alex spoke again. "Were going to make a couple of changes," he ground out. "We're switching to offensive plan five—I'm going to pull out all the stops."

There was a collective intake of breath as Alex gave the orders. Early on in the fall season, the team had come up with codes for all of their plays and set pieces and they all knew which plan of action plan five was for and it was the one plan of attack that, for logical reasons, Alex had said they would probably never use since it involved Alex basically ignoring all necessity for being discrete and almost singlehandedly blowing through the opposing team's defenses with much more speed and skill than any teenager should have. It was the kind of play they had come up with for last resort situations- one that Alex had found objectionable at the time, even if he was using it now.

"What are you going to do?" Brent asked warily, noticing that the official was starting to make his way over, wondering what was taking the team so long and wanting to be on the same page as his co-captain before play started again. The vibrations that had been wracking Alex's body suddenly stopped and his muscles unclenched as Alex finally fell over the edge he had been fighting so hard in the past months to avoid—the one that he had momentarily fallen off of in the immediate aftermath of the revelation of Sabina's betrayal. He finally looked up at his team, and they immediately noticed that his eyes were almost pitch black from the deadly concoction of emotions that now swirled freely behind them.

"If it's a fight Russell wants, then that's exactly what he's going to get."

There was a roar of approval from the Brookland supporters as Alex finally stood and the circle of players that surrounded him slowly broke up, looks of apprehension on their faces. No one had ever seen Alex loose control and they were justifiably afraid of what the consequences would be.

"Don't do anything stupid, Al," Brent warned as their teammates started to move back to their positions. Alex's lips twisted into a dark smile as he looked over at his teammate. It was a genuine concern. Alex had been a ticking time bomb since his return and now, the pin was out of the grenade and it was likely to go off at any time.

"I won't," he replied, half trying to convince himself of that fact. "I'm just going to give him the defeat of a lifetime." He stepped away from Brent, ending the conversation, and the co-captain returned to his place in front of the net. Alex passed Mark as he moved into position, getting ready for the free kick. Their eyes locked for a moment, and a small, deadly smirk crossed Alex's face as the other boy shrank away from the darkness that was evident in his eyes. Rational thought had been pushed aside and the more sadistic part of him found the loss of control to be extremely liberating as he was consumed by the rage that was rapidly leaking into his consciousness through the damaged walls of the mental cage he had constructed around his emotions.

Tom kicked the ball into play and suddenly, Alex was untouchable.

Brian, the left wing attacker fielded the free kick with ease and immediately fed the ball to Alex's waiting feet. Alex took off with the ball and began blowing through the East River defense as if they weren't even there. Within two minutes of play being restarted, a victorious cheer rippled through the Brookland spectators as Alex buried the ball in the back of East River's net. Alex smirked in satisfaction and he bumped Mark's shoulder as he made his way back to his position at center field.

"There's more where that came from," he promised quietly, reveling in how the older boy shivered in uneasiness at the sound of his voice. The referee blew his whistle and play started again, but East River only managed to get a couple of touches in before the ball was back in Brookland possession. Jacob, Brookland's center mid carried the ball up the field and passed it to Brian, who was hovering by the sideline. Brian performed a perfect cross, placing the ball in front of the East River net, and Alex appeared as if from nowhere, to execute a perfect bicycle kick, once again beating the keeper and putting the ball in the back of the net. Another roar went thought he Brookland supporters with the second goal of the game.

The game continued in the same manner, with Alex almost single handedly decimating the East River team as he channeled all the rage that had built up in him since his return from Russia into treating their opponents to a sound beating. He didn't care that he was drawing undue attention to himself with his sudden burst of skill, he didn't care if he was running faster and pushing himself harder than any normal teen should be able to, he didn't care about the fact that he shouldn't be able to take on one of the best secondary school teams in the city with minimal support from his teammates and win. It was all he could do to keep the mangled remains of his psychological walls intact, and that was all that was keeping him out of kill mode.

Finally, the official blew his whistle, signaling the end of the game and an almighty roar of victory went up from the solid block of Brookland supporters sitting in the stands while ringing silence hung over the East River supporters, who weren't quite sure what had hit them. The rage was still pulsing strongly through Alex's system as he finally allowed himself to slow down. He had lost track of the score, but at that point he really didn't care. His eyes swept over the field as he began to walk toward the team bench and for a brief moment, his gaze connected with the humiliated and enraged stare of Mark Russell. He shot the teen a dark smirk, before he turned away, focusing his attention back to his teammates, who were lost in excitement over their victory.

Alex heard the thud of fast approaching feet behind him before he felt—rather than saw—someone jump to attack him from behind. In a smooth, lightening quick movement, Alex had used his attacker's momentum to grapple him over his shoulder and within second's, Mark was pinned on his back on the ground in front of Alex, with Alex using his free hand to slowly squeeze the teen's windpipe closed.

Silence immediately spread over football pitch, cutting though the post-match atmosphere as everyone turned to watch the confrontation between the two strikers unfold. Alex had not yet released Mark's throat and the teen's face was slowly turning purple from lack of oxygen. He looked up fearfully into Alex's eyes and noticed that while they had been dark before, they were now pitch black. Alex's jaw was tight and his breathing labored as he fought for the control he needed not to squeeze the life out of the other teen right then and there.

There was a rustle of approaching footsteps. Alex looked up and his eyes connected with Brent's worried gaze. He stood still about five feet away cautions of getting any closer and Tom soon came to stand behind him.

"Alex…" Brent whispered, warily as he gazed into his co-captain's pitch black eyes.

Slowly, after an immeasurable amount of time in which no one moved, Alex managed to relax his grip in the other teen and step back, leaving Mark sputtering and gasping for breath at his feet. His gaze never left Brent's as backed away and his entire frame vibrated violently in restraint as the last remants of the walls keeping his emotions at bay were swept away and they consumed him.

He glanced down at Mark for another moment before he walked off the field and down the steps into the locker room without a word.

***

Spectators and players from both teams remained motionless even as Alex's vibrating figure disappeared into the school, shocked into stillness by what they had witnessed. The spell was finally broken when one of the East River coaches ran over to where Mark still sat gasping for breath, to make sure that he was okay. Murmured conversations began to break out and outrage quickly began to build among the east River supporters as the shock wore off.

An argument quickly broke out between the Brookland and East River coaches, who defied the official's attempts to mediate the argument and as they fought, tensions began to rise once again.

"This was totally uncalled for!" the East River coach exclaimed, his hand on Mark Russell's shoulder; even as they spoke, a dark bruise was beginning to form on the teen's neck. "He should be banned from the team," he continued angrily, "and the game should be forfeit."

"That's ridiculous!" the Brookland coach exclaimed vehemently, ignoring the official who hadn't yet managed to get a word in edgewise. "We won the game fair and square an _your_ player attacked mine from behind without reason!"

"And he nearly killed my player!"

"And he knew exactly what the consequences of attacking Alex would be," inserted an angry voice before either of the two coaches could speak again. The sudden intrusion caused everyone involved in the argument to freeze, since, in their anger, no one had noticed the approach of two Brookland players and a brown haired, blue-eyed girl. They all turned to look at Katie, who was flanked by Brent and Tom, as her eyes bored into Mark's guilty gaze, "Or have you already forgotten what happened in the dojo last Saturday?" she asked the nineteen-year-old coldly.

"What are you talking about Katie?" The Brookland coach asked warily.

"I'm talking about the fact that Alex gave Mark a _very _clear warning about what would happen to him if the idiot continued to try to pick a fight with him!"

Mark's gaze wavered for a moment, before he seemed to gather new resolve. "It's not as if he could really do it," he sneered.

"You imbecile! Whether he could or not is besides the point!" Katie exclaimed. "We all know that elbow you rammed into his chest during the game was deliberate— it was way too well placed. Did you really think that a move like that it would do anything other than piss him off? And seriously, Mark, how could you have expected anything less when you attacked an _eighth degree black belt_ from behind? His reflexes are _honed _to react exactly how he did!"

Quiet settled over the small group in the wake of Katie's outburst and the coaches and officials all turned to Mark, who was hunched over in embarrassment and defeat. The East River coach's anger seemed to deflate under the knowledge of his own players disorderly conduct and he quickly ushered Mark and the rest of the team off the field, leaving the three teens, the Brookland coach, and the officials standing in silence. Another moment of quiet passed before Brent.

"The guys can probably go into the locker room now," he said, looking over at the coach. "I don't think Alex was planning to stick around." He broke eye contact with the coach, glanced at the official, and then the three of them walked away without another word.

**Alex is officially ready to hit bottom—if he hasn't already. And he's definitely willing to do things he wouldn't otherwise do.**

**In the end, all it took to give him that final nudge over the edge was a soccer match and an annoying opponent. Seemingly trivial things, but they only add up when you're emotionally unstable to begin with.**

**There's only one more chapter and the epilogue after this, so this story is begining t draw to a close. The major issues are reaching their resolution and all of the loose ends will (hopefully) be tied up.**

** Tell me what you think.**

** TheUlmuri**


	11. Part X: Rock Bottom

**So, yeah.... It's been a long time. Sorry. It's been crazy over here between midterms and homework and whatnot. I finally got around to finishing Crocodile Tears, and I have to say my oppinion of it is mixed. Some parts I liked, and others made me want to bang my head against a wall. Other than that, the main reason this was so delayed was because I have been focusing on finishing the companion piece, which now just needs a little bit of tweaking before I _finally_ post it. **

**This chapter also deals with some delicate issues and it was difficult to achieve the right balance between treating them with the respect they deserve and my own assessment of Alex's psyche. It's a precarious ledge, and I can only hope that I did it justice. **

**Now...._finally_ onto the next chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough Said.**

Part X: Rock Bottom

Half an hour after the soccer game's violent end, the last of the players and spectators had cleared out; leaving the school was tranquil and quiet. Even the teachers had finished and packed up for the day and the school had taken on the kind of eerie stillness that only deserted public buildings were able to achieve. Katie Windsor stood in the nearly empty parking lot, looking between the only car in the lot—Alex's black Aston Martin DBS—and the school.

After a long drawn out moment, Katie crossed the lot, slipped into the school and began wandering down the deserted halls, peering into classrooms as she went. No one had seen Alex since he had stalked off the field at the end of the game and she was worried. Even from her position in the stands, she had seen the changes that had come over Alex during the course of the match and when she had seen him at the end, it was evident that he had reached his endurance point. What she had heard of Brent's assessment of the situation afterwards had done nothing to ease her worries.

Katie slowly made her way through the deserted school, walking slowly through the different wings and searching unsuccessfully for some evidence of where Alex had gone. She eventually found her way the rebuilt science block and was ready to give up when she noticed the little used staircase at the back of one of the chemistry classrooms that lead to the school's greenhouse and she instantly knew that that was where Alex had gone. She cautiously approached the stairs and slowly ascended, suddenly nervous about what she would find at the top.

None of the biology teachers had bothered to clean out the rooftop greenhouse when it had fallen into disuse and the remaining plant life had thrived when left to its own devices. The various vines and trailing plants had created a dense and tangled web of leaves and vines that made it difficult to move through the space. Sunlight filtered greenly through the canopy of leaves, but the dense vines that climbed the walls and ceiling gave the space and eerie feel and blocked most of the early evening light. Katie, examined the net of vines that hung down from the ceiling carefully, noticing that they had been recently disturbed. She listened intently and her breath caught when she heard a repetitive and methodical metallic noise cut sharply though the unsettling quiet of the rooftop.

"Alex?" she called out softly, knowing better than to try to sneak up on the teen spy. The clicking continued as if she hadn't spoken and there was no response from the bowels of the green house. "Alex?" she called again, moving deeper into the tangle of vines, disturbing much more of the plant life than Alex had.

Katie finally pushed through the vines into a clearer space towards the back of the green house. Alex sat Indian style with his back against the far wall. His head was bowed and his anger had fizzled out, leaving his shoulders hunched in uncharacteristic defeat. He held his Sig-229 in his lap, repeatedly locking and unlocking the safety on the firing mechanism with his thumb as he stared intensely at the weapon as if it held all of the answers the he was looking for. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but Katie knew that he was aware of her. She halted on the edge of the cleared space, not entirely sure of how to proceed.

"Alex?" she said again tentatively. The clicking stopped for a moment and Alex finally looked up at her. She drew in a sharp breath as she finally got a clear view of his face. Alex's emotionless mask had finally cracked and his expression was tired and worn. He seemed to have aged in the last hour and his face was drawn, the dark circles under his eyes that betrayed his exhaustion were finally evident as his emotional defenses laid in ruins. He glanced at her fleetingly, before he returned his attention to the gun in his hands and occupied his thumb on the safety once again.

"Somehow, I knew you'd be the on to find me," he said monotonously. While Brent had always been the most perceptive of his friends, Katie was the most likely to act on her perceptions and intervene, while Tom usually adopted a policy based on giving him space.

Katie shifted slightly where she stood, unsure of how to answer Alex. Once again, the methodical clicking of the gun was the only sound in the greenhouse.

Alex spoke again after a few moments of silence, as if he were suddenly compelled to fill the empty space between them. "In the beginning, I used to ask myself why I didn't just end it," he said bitterly, ignoring the sharp hiss of surprise his statement drew from his companion, "God, I've lost count of the number of times I considered the option. My life was shit. One moment I was living a normal, happy, and oblivious life and the next, my uncle was dead and I was drowning in a world where the only difference between "good" and "bad" was what _side_ you were on. I had to watch helplessly as my friends left me because I couldn't tell them anything and at the same time I was getting pulled further and further into the mess that is the criminal underworld. Some days it was like I couldn't _breathe_. I mean, how much can you really expect a fourteen-year-old to take?"

Katie had slowly moved forward as Alex spoke, drawn to him, but silently horrified at his darkest confessions. When she was standing right beside him, she slowly sank to sit beside him. She cautiously reached over to squeeze his shoulder as he paused, knowing that he wasn't looking for an answer to his question.

"It got better when I finally stopped resisting," he continued in a subdued tone. "The last thing I had wanted to do was face the truth, but I finally realized that it's something that even I couldn't escape. I couldn't deny that I was good at what I did—the best. I couldn't deny that, in some twisted way, it was what I was meant to do. And I definitely couldn't deny that no matter what I _said_, I was addicted to it. After a while you begin to crave the action and adrenaline—all of the dangerous things that make you feel alive. It's a drug all its own. Once I let it all go, it was like I was finally able to see what I was capable of and I was more confident in who I was. It didn't _matter_ that I had lost everything, it didn't _matter_ that everyone thought I was strung up on drugs and involved in gang activity—I knew who and what I was supposed to be and I _was_ it. For the first time in nearly a year, I didn't feel like I had to escape."

Alex felt Katie tense beside him, her grip on his shoulder tightening and he knew that she had realized what he actually meant when he talked about escaping. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was baring his soul to her now, but now that he had started, he found that he was unable to stop.

"I became a machine," he said. "I _am_ a machine. People around here, they look at me like I'm some kind of fucking hero—but I'm not. There's no such thing as _good _and _evil_ in the underworld, no heroes; it's all a matter of perspective. The "good guys" commit just as many atrocities as the "bad guys" do and they don't always do it for the most noble of reasons."

Katie remained silent as Alex talked, knowing that it would be better for him if he was able to get everything out in one go. She could sense that the black mood and embittered perspective were uncharacteristically strong and affecting his judgment, but it was also more than apparent that Alex had hit rock bottom.

"I was fifteen the when I killed in cold blood for the first time," Alex continued. "_Fifteen_. I've killed a lot of people Kat," he said, reverting to the nickname he and the boys had given her when they were seven in his moment of weakness. "Criminal and civilian, innocent and guilty…I've stabbed, shot, poisoned, strangled… _god_, the list goes on…and the only reason they call me a _hero_—" he spat the word— "is because I do it for _queen and country_ with the weight of the _entire fucking world_ on my shoulders. In any other context, I would be a terrorist of the worst kind. As comfortable as I am with who I've become, there are days when I hate myself. It's disgusting. How am I any better than the people that I pit myself against? _Seventeen_, and I'm already one of the most dangerous and lethal people on the planet."

Alex's frame had begun to vibrate once again as he talked, and Katie rested her head on his arm in quiet assurance as he spilled his darkest secrets. She gave his shoulder an extra squeeze, letting him know that she was still willing to listen. I killed her to know just how broken Alex really was—how much his job had destroyed him, and it pained her that there was nothing that she could do about it. Still, she didn't speak though letting him exorcize all of his demons without interruption.

"And _Sab_," he choked, the pain evident in his voice. His hands finally stilled and there was a muffled thud as he leaned his head back against the greenhouse wall, "_God_, _Sab_." He was practically sobbing, and his body began to shake violently.

"How could she do that?" he asked, gasping for breath, "How could I have trusted her? I _knew_ better than to trust her. I _knew_ that putting that much of myself into one person would only end in disaster but I couldn't help but do it anyway. I cared for her even though I knew I shouldn't. I _loved _her. I loved her and I _shot_ her in the head. I _killed _her. She sold me out and I killed her. God, how could she? How could I?"

The tears that Alex had suppressed for so long finally broke free and slid down his cheeks. He was too far gone to be ashamed of them. Katie shifted he position an pulled Alex into a tight embrace, he seemed to resist for a moment until he realized that she wasn't going to be letting go any time soon. With that realization, he relaxed into the first real human contact he had allowed himself in God knew how long. He couldn't remember the last time he had let anyone get so close. There was a dull thud as the gun he had been holding slipped out of his grasp as his arms slowly moved to return the embrace. He buried his face into the crook of her neck as sobs continued to wrack his body.

"It's okay," Katie whispered softly, speaking for the first time as she gently ran one hand through Alex's hair in a soothing motion. "You'll get through this Alex. You have all of us to help you through."

The two of them remained locked in their embrace for an immeasurable amount of time as Alex finally allowed himself to cry, releasing the guilt and the pain that had been eating at him for so long. Eventually, the tears stopped and the sobs quieted and Alex rested wearily rested his forehead against Katie's shoulder.

"I can't take much more of this," he finally admitted. "I can't keep pretending that nothing's wrong and that I'm even remotely close to dealing with this. I'm so _tired_. I can't sleep. It's been months since I got more than four hours a night. And the nightmares, _god_, the nightmares. Everything's so out of control. For the first time in a long time I actually considered ending it just to make it all _stop_. If you hadn't shown up when you did, I probably would have."

Katie froze for a moment at his confession before she pulled away slightly so that she could look into his eyes as she shook his shoulders. "You listen to me Alexander John Rider," she said fiercely and somehow, despite the gravity of the situation, he managed a small smile at the use of his full name. He remembered how she's use it when she was trying to be assertive back before he had become involved with MI6. "Don't even think about it. You're going to get through this, just like you've gotten through everything else."

"I know," Alex sighed and then smiled wryly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Besides, if there's one thing I suck at, it's dying."

"That's not funny," Katie said, smacking his chest, her chin trembling as her own tears streaked down her face. "Do you have any idea of what that would do to the rest of us?"

"I know," he sighed wearily. "Trust me, I know," he assured her, seeing her skeptical expression. "And you're right. I've been through too much to let this push me over the edge, I just needed someone to remind me of that when the chips were down, to snap me back to reality—and you did. I usually know when I'm being irrational, but this is such a goddamn clusterfuck and I'll be the fist to admit that my judgment's been impaired. I'm not suicidal, I promise. I just haven't been _this _fucked up in a long time."

Katie relaxed noticeably before a spark of anger ignited in her eyes. "What the hell, Alex," she exclaimed, slapping him again for emphasis, "Don't ever scare me like that again."

"I wasn't trying to scare you," Alex replied tiredly as he broke their embrace and leaned back against the greenhouse wall, "I was being honest, which is a hell of a lot more than I've been to anyone in the last couple of months—including myself. It _did_ cross my mind and if there ever was a moment that I was seriously considering suicide, it was right before you showed up. But the moment has passed, and at the very least, I've got my head screwed on straight again. My mind is a pretty dark place Kat, and you're not going to like everything you hear."

Katie grabbed one of his hands from his side and squeezed it in her own. "You can't keep bottling this up, Alex," she sighed as she followed his example and leaned back against the greenhouse wall. "It's not healthy."

Alex closed his eyes as he relaxed against the foliage-covered wall, reveling in the contact that he had denied himself for so long. "I know."

"Doesn't MI6 have someone you can talk to?"

"They do," Alex sighed. "I just haven't been going. I just… It was too fresh. Nothing would have been achieved if I went because I wouldn't have talked."

"And now?"

Alex looked over at her and smiled, "You mean now that all of the walls that I put up have been shattered into a million pieces? Yeah, I think I'm ready to talk."

"Well that's something at least."

"Yeah."

Silence fell over the green house as the two of them became lost in their own thoughts. Katie was noting the immediate effect that their talk had had on Alex. The experience had been noticeably cathartic for him and he was already shedding the emotionless agent persona that he had retreated into ever since the assignment in Irkutsk had ended in disaster.

It was Alex who eventually broke the comfortable silence.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "I'm not sure I want to imagine what kind of state I would have been in if you hadn't shown up."

Katie smiled. "What are friends for?" she said good-naturedly.

Alex cracked an eye open and turned to face her. "You just talked me off the proverbial ledge Kat," he said. "Friends or not, that's something to thank you for."

Katie sighed and then took a closer look at him. "Your exhausted, Al," she said.

Alex chuckled darkly, "That's an understatement," he said, closing his eyes once again. Months of insomnia, intense physical exercise, and emotional upheaval had finally caught up with him, hitting him like a ton of bricks in the wake of his breakdown. For all his experience, it was now a fight to stay conscious.

Katie got to her feet and slowly tugged Alex up as well. "Come on," she said, "I'll drive you home."

Alex let Katie drag him to his feet, picking up his discarded gun and stowing it away on instinct. He swayed where he stood and Katie ducked under one of his shoulders so that she could support him. She slowly maneuvered them through the tangled mess of vines and down the stairs and lead him through the halls and out to the parking lot.

"I need your keys," she said, as they neared his car, and Alex's free hand fumbled in his pocket for a moment before he produced a set of keys

"Be nice to my car," he mumbled as he handed them over. Katie rolled her eyes as she unlocked it and helped Alex into the passenger seat,

"Will do," she replied before she shut his door and made her way over to the driver's side and slid into the seat. She took a second to admire the sleek vehicle before she cranked the engine and pulled carefully out of the lot.

Soon, Katie had parked outside of Alex's house and was tugging him out of the car and towards the front door. She fumbled with the keys for a moment before she managed to get it in the lock and she let them inside, She was struck for a moment by how much the house had changed since the last time she had been there with the rest of their group of friends. It was neat and impersonal, revealing nothing about its occupant. Katie shook the thoughts out of her head and guided Alex up the stairs, passing several doors on the second floor, including the one she knew lead to his childhood room, until she came to what was unmistakably the master bedroom, which she assumed he now occupied. She noted that it was as neat as the rest of the house, save the fact that the bed sheets were crumpled and unmade.

Katie deposited Alex's semiconscious form on the bed and gently removed his shoes and socks before pulling the blankets over him. She moved to leave the room when Alex's hand unexpectedly shot out to grab her wrist and she paused to look back at him.

"_Thank you_," he murmured, just before the black oblivion of sleep finally overtook him.

***

Tom was worried when Alex didn't show up at school the next day. Alex never missed school while he was home and Tom was alarmed to think that MI6 might have pulled him out of school when he was clearly not over what had happened during his last assignment. He couldn't concentrate during homeroom, and his eyes kept returning to Alex's empty spot beside him.

Alex's absence continued to nag at him throughout the morning classes. His worry only increased as Alex failed to show up. By lunch, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong and he had just decided to call Alex as he sat down at the lunch table where Brent was already waiting for him.

Brent immediately noticed Tom's preoccupation and it didn't take much for him to deduce its source. He put a reassuring hand on the other teen's shoulder. "He's alright Tom," he said. "He's at home."

Tom looked up at Brent in confusion, "How do you know?" he asked, wondering what could have happened that Brent already knew about that he didn't.

"Katie found him after the game yesterday. She didn't give me any details, but it didn't sound good. She wanted to wait for you before she said though."

Tom nodded, but was in no way appeased by Brent's words. He was relieved that MI6 hadn't been foolish enough to send him out, but the thought that something had happened that was bad enough to keep Alex from going to school only served to make him more anxious. Judging by Alex's actions during and immediately following the previous day's soccer match, Tom had a feeling that Alex had finally snapped, and he was fearful of what that would have done to his best friend.

The two boys waited in silence for Katie to arrive. Brent was aware of the tension that was rolling off of Tom, but knew that there was nothing that he could say to ease the teen's fears—not when he knew so little himself. He too was worried about Alex, but he masked it in order to help keep the other boy's fear in check.

Finally, Katie made her way through the lunch line and took her place at the table. She was quiet for a moment before she spoke. "He's okay," she said. "He's sleeping—God knows he needs it. I was over there this morning and told him not to bother coming in."

"What happened?" Brent asked, warily, speaking for Tom, knowing that the other boy was still too nervous to do so himself.

Katie sighed sadly. "I was worried so I went looking for him after the match. I had almost given up the search when I found him in the greenhouse on the roof of the science building. _God_," she choked. "I've never seen anyone look so defeated."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom, knowing that defeat was an emotion that Alex rarely, if ever, displayed.

"He was just sitting there on the greenhouse floor, fiddling with the safety of his gun with his thoughts a million miles away. You could just _tell_ that his mind had brought him to the darkest corners of his phyche. For such a small action, what he was doing was terrifying."

Tom felt the dread in him rise as Katie took a shuddering breath before continuing.

"He was ready to put his gun to his own head," she choked out barely registering the Tom's sharp intake of breath or Brent's comforting embrace as she remembered her conversation with Alex the evening before. "He said he probably would have if I hadn't shown up."

Brent froze and Tom when white at Katie's revelation. Both of them were aware of the fact that Alex wasn't in the best frame of mind, but neither had expected him to reach that level of volitality. In Tom's experience, Alex was a survivor; he _always _pulled through regardless of the amount of pressure he was under. He knew that even when Alex had sunk into a semi-depressive state during his first year working at MI6, he would never have acted on his more self destructive thoughts. It terrified him that Alex had fallen back onto serious consideration of that line of thought.

"He's not still considering it is he?" Brent asked, his face ashen.

"No," Katie replied in a trembling voice. "He snapped out of it pretty quickly after I found him. He said all he needed was for some one to show up for him to start thinking rationally again. He had just hit bottom. I don't think it's going to happen again. Yesterday was just… too much. He was already loosing control."

Brent nodded in relief and Tom let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was intensely grateful that Katie had had the rationality to try to find him after the football match's violent end. Another part of him felt guilty. As much as he had wished to avoid Alex's impending breakdown, he felt as if he had left his best friend down by not being for him when he was at his weakest. He knew that Katie had been close to Alex pre-MI6 and she had asked him how he was doing quite often over the past couple of years, but he still felt that he should have been the one there for him.

Katie smiled sadly, guessing at Tom's thoughts and knowing the strain that the past months had put on their friendship. "It's okay, Tom," she said. "He knows you care. The fact that you weren't there when he finally broke down doesn't mean that you're a bad friend."

Tom nodded and smiled sadly in thanks.

"I still can't believe we didn't see that coming," sighed Brent, also feeling as if he had failed his friend by not noticing the true depth of his inner turmoil. "He's just so good at hiding his emotions."

"That's how he survived," Tom answered. "Learning to shut off his emotions was one of the first things he mastered. If he hadn't, the situations that he finds himself in would have pushed him over the edge."

"But it's part of the problem now," Katie pointed out. "He spends so much time closing himself off from them, that he doesn't know how to actually _deal _with them. But somehow, I can't blame him. Some of the things he said yesterday… I don't think anyone of us could have realized just how much his experiences affected him. At the same time, I think, overall, what happened yesterday was good for him. It was like some huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders the moment he actually let himself _feel_."

The two boys nodded in response, trusting Katie's assessment and glad that their friend had finally started what was sure to be a slow and painful healing process. For the first time in months, the three of them had reason to hope that Alex would pull through—just like he always did.

***

Alex didn't return to school that week, hardly left the confines of his bed after Katie had laid him there Monday evening. The events of that day had left him exhausted and the lack of sleep from the previous three months seemed to hit him all at once with the force of a MAC truck. The catharsis of the greenhouse seemed to have done some good though and, for the first time in months, Alex had fallen into a deep, dreamless and uninterrupted sleep.

He spent the rest of the week alternating between sleeping and lying in bed, awake, but inactive. Occasionally he would wander down to the kitchen for food. He felt incredibly lazy, but the knew that he had to give his body the rest that he had been denying it for so long or he _would_ eventually collapse in exhaustion. Regardless, it felt so good to just _rest_.

After having spent the week letting his body recuperate and heal properly, Alex returned to school refreshed and in full control of all his faculties. Sabina's betrayal still stung like an open wound, but it was manageable now that his defenses had crumbled and he was no longer keeping his emotions locked inside until they reached boiling point. The dark circles under his eyes had disappeared, and his face seemed to have lost some of the years that his drawn and exhausted expression had added to it.

Like the rest of the school, Tom, Brent and Katie immediately noticed when Alex pulled into the lot— his sleek car stood out among the rest like a sore thumb. They came to stand beside the car as Alex cut the engine and let himself out. Katie took a few tentative steps forward as Alex straightened himself out, no yet sure of how much had changed over the course of the week. When she noticed that Alex was looking at her with a peaceful expression and a small half smile on his face, she threw caution to the winds and flung her arms around him.

Alex easily caught Katie and enveloped her in a tight embrace, ignoring the stares of the other students who, was usual, were showing undue interest in his change in demeanor. "Thank you," he whispered again in her ear when he finally released her. He knew that he could live forever and never manage to thank her enough for what she had done for him.

Katie pulled away slightly and smiled up at him. He gave her shoulder an extra squeeze of thanks and reassurance before he turned his attention to his best friend. They engaged in a more masculine embrace, grasping hands and pulling each other into a one-armed hug. Alex thumped Toms back with his free hand and then pulled away.

"I haven't been a very good friend lately," he said. "Thanks for sticking by me anyway," he continued, the gratitude and sincerity evident his voice.

"It's okay, Alex," Tom said, a small smile crossing his face. "Just don't shut us out, okay? We're here for you man."

Alex couldn't help but respond with his own small, sad smile, relieved that no lasting damage had been done to their friendship. "Deal," he said, before turning his attention to Brent. The two of them exchanged a similar greeting before the group of four started to make their way across the parking lot.

"So…" Tom eventually said as they entered the school, and Alex knew from his tentative voice that the interrogation had officially begun, "How are you?" he asked. "And don't you _dare_ tell me that you're fine," he hastened to add, tired of hearing the obvious lie slip from his friend's lips.

Alex shot Tom a sad, knowing smile as the three of them took their seats in homeroom. "I'm dealing with it," he replied. "…Slowly," he then tacked on honestly. "I've been betrayed and double-crossed my fair share of times in the last couple of years— I'm no stranger to it, but it had never hit so close to home before, at least not since Ash and I didn't know him the way I knew _her_. It's a bitter and painful pill to swallow."

"What happened in Russia?" Tom asked tentatively, unable to curb his curiosity any longer.

Alex visibly flinched as he was bombarded with memories of his last two hours in Irkutsk, and the look of deep pain in his eyes was unmistakable to his two friends. "Not yet, Tom," he replied shakily. "Maybe some day, but not yet. And definitely not here," he added, looking around at all of the other curious faces in the room.

Tom nodded in acceptance and the conversation was cut short when the teacher called the class to attention.

***

Five weeks later, school was winding down as summer break approached. The year twelve students, Alex included, had finished taking their A Level examinations and were looking ahead to their impending matriculation. Alex was finally making progress in his efforts to deal with the betrayal that had shook him to his core. He had almost returned how he had been before his disastrous last assignment, but he had been through so much that had changed him, and he knew that he would always bear the emotional scars of Sabina's choices. He had accepted that he would never truly return to how he was before, and truthfully, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Alex had finally relented in his refusal to talk and started a regiment of frequent and intensive sessions with one of MI6's psychologists. At first the sessions had been trying, forcing him to bring up emotions and memories that he usually avoided, and while his nightmares did eventually abate with time, the nights following appointments often led to particularly horrific episodes. It was only with the support of his friends, that he made it through the first, most volatile weeks.

Eventually the sessions became easier and the following nightmares became more and more infrequent and much less severe and Alex no longer spent every morning heaving into the toilet. He had finally managed to shed the last of the mental barriers that he had created in the aftermath of the betrayal and fully relax into a post assignment mindset where he wasn't liable to react violently to anything that moved. The feeling of being able to loosen up was liberating after his psyche had kept him on edge for so long.

Alex had also finally been able to rebuild his friendships once he stopped keeping everyone at arms length in a defensive reflex. He eventually relayed the standard cliff notes version of his assignment to Tom, minus many of the details of what had happened at the end and he found himself able to confide things to them that he had never considered telling them before. He knew that he owed them everything, and for the first time in years, he had managed to get back one of the few parts of his old life that he ever bothered to miss.

One week before graduation, the four of them were lounging in Alex's living room, watching a football match between Chelsea and Arsenal. Brent was a faithful Arsenal fan while Alex's loyalties had always laid with the boys in blue and the two teens were arguing about the relative skill of each team. Tom and Katie had chosen not to take sides, instead enjoying the light-hearted banter that had been absent in their lives for so long.

Eventually the game ended with Chelsea beating Arsenal 2-1 and the group found their way to the kitchen. Alex moved to the sink to fill a glass of water from the tap and sighed as he remembered happier times when Jack would have been there to cook the group one of her famous eight-minuet meals. The small noise did not go unnoticed by the two most perceptive of his friends.

"You miss her a lot, don't you," said Brent, stating the obvious and alerting Tom to the turn in conversation.

"Yeah," Alex sighed. "It wasn't fair to her…what happened."

Katie bit her lip nervously before she gathered her resolve to ask Alex about something that had been bothering her for some time. "Alex, what _did _happen to Jack?"

Alex's tightened his grip on his glass as he sat down at the table and stared off into space thinking about the woman who had been his anchor when his whole world had seemed to have spun out of control. A wave of guilt and anger coursed through him as he remembered the circumstances of her death. "She went out for groceries one day and never made it back," he said quietly. "Sniper."

He shuddered as memories of the dreaded phone call from Mrs. Jones flooded his mind. "I never really gave myself think about it," he admitted. "I was out on assignment in Morocco at the time and I didn't have time to stop and process the emotions so they just got pushed to the side and never got dealt with. I wasn't even there for her funeral—no one was. When I finally got home, I missed her, but I had already locked away any feelings that her death brought out in me and things went on business as usual, besides the fact that I was alone." He paused for a moment and chuckled bitterly. "It didn't make anything easier when the walls finally came crashing down."

There was quiet for a moment as Alex's friends absorbed what he had told them.

"That day, in September…" Brent began again eventually, noticing how Alex tensed in anger at the mention of that fateful day when the divides between MI6 and the rest of his life had collapsed, "We all heard that medic that was patching you up say something about torture, and we saw the scars, what happened?"

The silence took over once again as Alex contemplated what to tell his friends. He hadn't told anyone, not even Tom, about his months in captivity and part of him was still reluctant to recount that particular experience to his friends due to its horrific nature. Finally, he relented, deciding to give them an abbreviated version of what had happened.

"I was in Northern Ireland when Scorpia captured me," Alex sighed. "I was only fifteen, almost sixteen, at the time. The assignment was simple, and I mean really, _really_, simple, but Scorpia had somehow gotten word that I was in Belfast— they had some other small operation taking place in city and decided to take advantage of the situation presented to them. They weren't even originally there for me. The cell probably would have taken the opportunity to kill me outright if my last assignment hadn't left me in possession of some extremely sensitive information on Britain's nuclear and biological weapons stores and they decided that their purposes would be better served if they could get the information out of me before they killed me."

Alex paused for a moment and his eyes became unfocused as he became lost in the memories. "I put up a decent fight," he said. "But at fifteen, I just didn't have the height or the muscle mass that I needed in order to fight off the number of people they sent to capture me, regardless of my level of skill. I was knocked out with some kind of sedative and woke up in a filthy cell two days later with no idea where I was." He shuddered as the memory of the cell and the injury that had been inflicted on him there before he pushed on with his story. "They tortured me almost every day for two months using a wide variety of techniques," he continued, purposefully being vague. "But regardless of what they did they never managed to break me, which is probably why I never had a mental breakdown afterwards—I was stronger than anyone had given me credit for. It was still most painful and horrific experience of my life, and I still have nightmares about it when I'm stressed, but it never got to me the way Jack's death or Sabina's betrayal did."

"Why do you think that was?" Katie asked curiously. She was confused with how Alex had been able to cope with two months of torture better than anything else that happened to him, thinking that it would logically be one of the things that left the worst emotional scars, if not bigger problems such as PTSD.

Alex shrugged thoughtfully, still staring into space as he rolled his glass absentmindedly in his hands. "Probably because I've conditioned myself to handle any amount of physical pain that I get dealt, whether it's to keep fighting after I've been shot or to not bend to torture, I've spent a lot of time teaching myself to stay mentally strong, even when my body's reached its physical limits and is on the verge of giving in. But emotions… you can't survive in my world if you don't lean how to shut them off, and I couldn't deal with them when they became too strong for me to do that."

Alex's friends nodded pensively as they considered the implications of Alex's reasoning. "How did MI6 even find you?" Tom asked eventually.

"I was on death's door by the time MI6 found me," Alex sighed. He removed his grip from the glass in front of him and brushed a patch of hair aside to expose the skin just behind his ear where there was a sight bump—almost unnoticeable— under his skin just below the hairline. "Every operative has a GPS microchip implanted under the skin," he explained as he let his hand fall and used it to grip the glass tightly once again, "It keeps track of the operative's pulse so that it only activates when their heart stops. My captors had been giving me drugs that had kept me conscious during the torture, but several times towards the end, they had tortured me until I went into cardiac arrest in their frustration and then revived me. The GPS activated while my heart wasn't beating, and eventually, it transmitted long enough for MI6 to get a lock on my location. Blunt later informed me that I was being held at one of Scorpia's secondary training facilities in the Carpathian Mountains."

The three other teens shuddered noticeably as they contemplated what Alex had endured during his two-month stay in the terrorist training facility. It amazed them that anyone could be strong enough to come out of there relatively unharmed—at least from a psychological standpoint.

Silence enveloped the group once again as they each became lost in their separate thoughts.

***

Graduation came quickly upon Alex and his friends as the group found themselves sitting in front of the stage in the auditorium where all had been revealed just over a year ago, listening to the headmaster and several others give their commencement speeches.

Alex sat in the fifth row back from the front in the isle seat, letting the voices of the various speakers wash over him as he contemplated the impact that the past four years had had on his life. In such a short amount of time, he had been subject to a myriad of irreversible changes and dangerous situations that had transformed him from a mere school boy to the best and most sought after special operative in the world. He had faced death countless numbers of times and won, he had killed more times than he cared to admit, and he had borne the weight of the world on his shoulders time and time again. He had paid the price for his success in scars of both the physical and psycological variety and he had stood on the brink of human endurance and self-destruction, only to be pulled back in the knick of time.

They were, he concluded, without contest, the four most trying years of his life.

Mr. Bray finally started calling students up to the stage to receive their diplomas and Alex cheered loudly as Brent mounted the stage and shook the headmaster's hand. Soon after he repeated the gesture for Tom.

This was, he thought, at least one thing that he hadn't lost as part of his premature introduction to adult responsibilities—the opportunity to celebrate this right of passage with his friends.

Although his unique position caused the formalities of it meant little to him, the event was made special by the fact that there were so many things that could have prevented him from reaching this moment—premature death not the least among them—and despite the obstacles, he was still sitting there, sharing the moment with his peers.

A roar came from the assembled students as Alex's name was called. Over the years he had been many things to these people: druggie, convict, athlete, protector, and finally, hero. He still didn't agree with the last term; as far as he was concerned there were no such things as heroes, but he could understand why they believed he was one.

Alex finally came to stand beside the headmaster and looked steadily into the older man's eyes as he shook the man's hand and was given his diploma. He noted that the headmaster's eyes held a faint note of pride in them, though he wasn't sure what for.

"Good luck, Alex," Mr. Bray said as he finally released the teen's hand, and Alex, knowing what awaited him upon his return to the underworld, knew that those three words held all the meaning in the world.

** This is the last chapter before the epilogue.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	12. Epilogue: Endgame

**An anon. reviewer asked me how I manage to update so quickly. The answer? I finish the story _before_ I begin posting it; that way, I never have to worry about going ridiculously long amounts of time between posting chapters or loosing interest. It's probably the same reason that it's likely you won't see any more full length stuff from me for a while. **

**And now, sadly, we have reached the end of _Lethal Secrets_. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Enough said.**

Epilogue: Endgame

Alex walked down the busy London street, weaving through the crowds of people who were spending the Sunday afternoon enjoying the sun that had managed to peek through the city's near constant cloud cover as he made his way to his destination.

Four weeks had passed since graduation and for the most part life had returned to normal. Alex was forgoing university to start working full time for MI6 immediately; secure in the knowledge that he had the means and the ability to study what ever sparked his interest on the side whenever he wanted to or had the time. Katie would be attending the Imperial College in London, majoring in aeronautical engineering while Brent had signed on to play with Arsenal, a premier league football team based in london while working towards a degree in criminal profiling. Tom had decided to pursue his interest in cars, somehow securing an apprenticeship at a body shop that specialized in custom vehicles.

After a long internal debate, Alex had decided to sell his uncle's house and move into modern, upscale apartment at the top of a high-rise in Central London. He didn't need the extra space the house provided and the apartment afforded him a fresh start away from all the memories that the house in Chelsea held. It was also advantageously closer to his work.

It had taken nearly five months of emotional turmoil, but Alex had finally been cleared to return to active duty, and he knew that the call could come at any time. He was expected to return to Brecon Beacons at the end of the month for his annual training brush up—that was if he wasn't put out on assignment first.

Despite the fact that his life had, for the most part, returned to business as usual, there was one more thing that Alex felt he had to do to put the events of the last couple of months in the past and move on with the rest of his life. His left hand slipped into his jacket pocket, grasping the piece of paper that held the key to allowing him to do just that as he turned down a side street, following a route he had walked many times before.

Muffled rock music greeted Alex's ears as he stepped off the street and entered a small, clean tattoo parlor. Drawings and photos of the owner's work adorned the walls and the glass case beneath the front counter held hardware for a wide variety of piercings. A black leather couch and two matching chairs offered comfortable seating to waiting clientele and tattoo magazines and binders of sample work were laid out on a modern coffee table constructed of metal and glass, ready for visitors to look through for inspiration.

The man behind the counter looked up and smiled as Alex came to stand across from him. He was tall, tan, and well muscled with short, light brown hair and blue eyes. Both of his arms were covered in sleeves of colorful ink, which also peeked out of the neckline of his dark green tee shirt and crept up the side of his neck. His intimidating appearance contrasted sharply with his friendly demeanor. "Alex," he greeted. "Long time, no see."

"Hey, J," Alex replied. "Do you have time for me today?"

"It's been pretty quiet today," the tattoo artist replied. "I've got about four hours until my next appointment, so depending on what you want, I may be able to fit you in. What did you have in mind?"

Alex slid a folded piece of drawing paper across the counter, "I want it on my left bicep," he said as Jay curiously unfolded the page to reveal a hand drawn picture of an anatomically correct heart, wrapped in thorns.

"Did you draw this?" Jason asked, admiring the detail in the artwork.

Alex nodded as Jason studied the piece.

"It's amazing." Jason continued. "Based on the level of detail, I think that this will take around two hours so we can go in the back and get you started now. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"I need to add some tally marks to the piece on my back," Alex replied quietly.

Jason's head snapped back up as he took his attention away from the drawing and focused back on Alex. "_More_ tally marks?" he asked warily. Although Alex had explicitly never told him what the marks on his back represented, he had gathered a general idea.

Alex nodded. "Thirty-seven," he clarified, noticing how the tattoo artist hissed in shock at the number. It wasn't often that he came in with numbers so large. "I need you to do the last one in red."

Jason swallowed thickly. "Okay," he sighed, knowing it wasn't his business to pry. "Why don't you get settled at my station while I get the stencil ready," he decided.

Alex nodded and made his way to the back of the shop to Jason's workroom. He stripped off his shirts and removed his gun from his waistband, throwing them on a chair in a corner of the room and then settled down on the padded plastic covered chair in the middle of the room, waiting for Jason to finish preparing the stencil.

Jason walked into the room a few minutes later and began setting up his workstation. "I think we'll start with the piece on your arm," he said as he readied his equipment. "We'll get the big stuff out of the way first before we add the tallies to your back."

Alex nodded as Jason turned around with a bottle of cleaning agent and a razor in his hands, ready to prep the area for ink. He paused for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he caught sight of Alex's bare upper body for the first time, before he regained his professionalism and focused back on his task. He turned some rock music on as background noise before he began carefully running the razor over Alex's upper arm, removing any hair from the tattoo site before cleaning it with a disinfectant.

"It looks like you've seen some action since you were last here," that tattoo artist commented quietly as he prepped the area, his eyes shifting momentarily to the two new bullet scars that graced Alex's shoulder and upper arm.

"Just a hazard of being me, J," Alex replied and the tattoo artist winced slightly at the nonchalance with which his most mysterious client could speak about being shot.

Alex had been an enigma since he had walked into Jason's tattoo shop just over a year ago. The tattoo artist had immediately been struck by how different the teen was from all the other people his age that had wandered in, looking for a tattoo. He had been calm and assured as he had taken in every inch of the small shop and walked straight up to the counter without hesitation. His serious brown eyes were cold and filled with a knowledge that had aged him and they had reminded Jason of his father, a war veteran. Jason couldn't understand what would cause a teenager to have a soldier's eyes. He had been just as shocked by Alex's design request and its obvious symbolism and even more horrified by the scarring that had been revealed when he had gone to put the tattoo on Alex's back. The teen had been closed lipped about how he had acquired his injuries, but— Jason knew without asking as he glanced behind him at the teen's discarded gun— whatever Alex was involved in was incredibly dangerous.

Jay finished prepping the area and carefully transferred the stencil to Alex's upper bicep and then started up the ink gun. "What's the reasoning behind this design?" Jay asked curiously as he touched the tattoo gun to Alex's skin and began inking the design permanently into the teen's arm.

Alex looked down to where Jason was slowly inking the representation of his once shattered heart onto his arm. "I needed closure," he sighed quietly as he looked away, lost in the memories of everything that had happened since the day that everything had gone so horribly wrong.

Jason nodded and continued to work quietly, sensing that Alex wasn't in the mood to talk. The two of them remained that way for the next two hours, only interrupting the constant hum of the machines and the steady beat of the music when speech was necessary.

When he was finally finished, Jason sat back, admiring his work. The tattoo was an almost perfect rendition of Alex's drawing; none of the realism that the sketch had captured had been lost in its ink counterpart.

Alex was pulled out of his thoughts as he felt Jason pull away from his arm and shut off the ink gun. He looked down at the finished tattoo and small, sad smile crossed his face. "Thanks, J," he sighed. "It's perfect."

"No problem, Al," the tattoo artist replied, clasping the teen's shoulder tightly. "Let's get this taped up so we can add those marks to your back." Alex nodded acquiescence and Jason rubbed petroleum jelly over the fresh ink and covered it in gauze. "Do you remember how to take care of that?" he asked as Alex rolled over to expose his back.

"Of course, Jason," Alex replied dryly.

"I was just checking," Jason mumbled defensively under his breath, and then raised his voice to a normal volume, "How many of these did you want again?" he asked.

"Thirty-seven," Alex replied quietly, "And the last one in red."

"Right."

Jason looked down at the column of small tally marks that ran down Alex's back to the left of the massive back piece of the titan whose punishment it was to carry the world on his shoulders. He had long since lost count of the number of marks that he had added to it and winced internally as he though about what each one most likely represented. He shook his head slightly, as if to dislodge his train of thought and brought the ink gun back to Alex's skin, slowly adding each of the tiny marks.

Alex let the faces of each of the people he had killed in Russia flash across his consciousness as Jason inked the evidence of his deeds into his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of each individual person and the way in which they had met their death, either directly or indirectly at his hands. On principle, he still hated killing, hated engaging in the act of taking a life, but he had numbed himself to the point where he could do it without thought or remorse long ago. It was because of this ability—the ability to kill without feeling—that Alex knew that despite his motives, that he, along with every other operative at the top of their game, was in essence no better than the people he fought. This was his penance—to bear a mark for every life he had taken, a constant reminder that there was no good and evil, only the choice of what cause to use his lethal skill set for.

Sabina's face flashed across the insides of Alex's eyelids as he felt Jason touch the ink gun to his skin to add the final tally mark. Her death, though logical to his special operative's reasoning, was one he would never be proud of. He knew it was her involvement in his double life—something that should never have happened— that had driven her to such extremes. He realized that he couldn't take the responsibility for her choices, but he couldn't deny that it was his world that had been the catalyst to start her down the dark path to destruction.

Alex opened his eyes as he felt Jason lift the ink gun from his skin for the last time and covered the freshly inked skin with gauze. With the evidence of his deeds marked permanently on his skin, Alex finally let himself shed the last of the darkness that he had carried with him since his return from Russia. He would carry his guilt and his sins, but he would no longer let them drag him down.

Alex was broken out of his daze as Jason clasped his shoulder. "You're done, man," he said quietly, as if he had sensed the gravity of Alex's thoughts. Alex nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position before he hopped off the bench and retrieved his belongings from the chair in the corner. He shrugged his shirts and gun back into place and then followed Jason out of the room and paid at the front counter.

"I'll see you around, J," Alex called as he turned to let himself out of the small shop, but he paused as a familiar ringtone sounded from his phone.

Jason watched as the superficially innocent sound of Alex's cell phone seemed to bring about a transformation in the usually stoic and mysterious teen. In an instant Alex seemed to become a little colder and a little more deadly. His shoulders straightened slightly and he seemed to stand a little taller, becoming at once more confident and yet more closed off. He seemed to relax, as if he was slipping into a mindset that was both familiar and preferred.

Alex dug around in one of the pockets of his cargo pants for his cell phone and brought to his ear. "I'm listening," he said, already knowing from the ring tone who was on the other end.

"_Agent Rider_," came the voice on the other end. "_We need you to come in_."

A cold smile crossed Alex's features. He had grown restless in his long leave of absence and his eyes gleamed with challenge and determination at the anticipation of a new assignment. It was time to get back to doing what he did best.

"I'll be there in ten."

**End.**

**So it's done. Alex is back in the game and ready to move on with his life. He's stronger for it and he's gained some and lost some in the process.**

**To anyone who stuck through the whole thing and reviewed, thank you. I never expected to get the response that I did to this story and I am so thankful to all of you. **

**There isn't going to be a sequel; I'm not entirely fond of the things and I feel like this story has run its course. I already have a second story in the works, A crossover between Alex Rider and CHERUB, but I don't know if I'll be posting it any time in the near future since I like to finish a story before I think about posting it. Hopefully I'll find some time to do some shorter stuff in the meantime.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**TheUlmuri**


	13. Playlist

**Lethal Secrets: Notes**

Music was a huge help in getting me into the necessary mindset to write each part of this story. I thought I'd post the play list, just in case anyone was interested. Its a pretty diverse mix.

**Playlist: [Title]; [Album], [Artist] (Approximate part of story inspired by it)**

**Speed Me Towards Death**; Furious Angels, Robert Dougan (Theme Song)

**Main Titles**; The Bourne Identity (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), John Powell (Inside Man)

**Main Title**; Incredible Hulk Soundtrack, Craig Armstrong (School Attack)

**Hero**; Hero single, Chad Kroeger (Revalations)

**All Along the Watchtowe**r; South Saturn Delta, Jimi Hendirx (Returning to Normal)

**Einstein's Wrong**; Revenge of the Fallen soundtrack, Steve Jablonski (COBRA)

**Welcome Home**; Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness, Coheed and Cambria (Summit/Stuggart Air Force Base)

**Nest**; Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen soundtrack, Steve Jablonski (Insertion/Parachute)

**Keeping the Blade**; Good Apollo, I'm Burning Star IV: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness, Coheed and Cambria (The RV)

**Infiltrate This**; 2 Days or Die, Atlas Plug (Safe House)

**Steel Run**; 2 days or Die, Atlas Plug (Chambers of the Union of Communist Nations)

**Amber**; As if to Nothing, Craig Armstrong (Gathering Intelligence)

**Premeditated**; Antisleep Vol. 1, Blue Stahli (Criminal Activities/Stage Three Begins)

**Is There Anybody Out There?**; The Wall, Pink Floyd (The Dream)

**Session**; Meteora, Linkin Park (Infiltration)

**Truth Be Known**; 2 Days or Die, Atlas Plug (Fight, Discovery, and a Death)

**When the World Ends**; Restrung, Vitamin String Quartet (Aftermath)

**Regret**; Antisleep Vol. 1, Blue Stahli (Return)

**Clubbed to Death**; Furious Angels, Rob Dougan (Existing)

**Fat****her's Funer****al**; Hellboy (Original Motion Picture Sound Track), Marco Beltrami (Memory: A Conversation)

**Comfortably Numb**; The Wall, Pink Floyd (Phone Calls)

**The Beginning is the End is the Beginning**; Rarities and B-Sides, Smashing Pumpkins (Dojo)

**Somewhere I Belong**; Meteora, Linkin Park (Failing Defenses)

**Stranger in a Strange Land**; This is War, 30 Seconds to Mars (Football Game)

**Second Stage Turbine Blade**; Second Stage Turbine Blade, Coheed & Cambria (In Defense)

**Damaged Goods**; Glint-EP, Glint (Greenhouse)

**Boy of the Stars**; Sound in Silence, Glint (Healing/Same Mistake Twice)

**Bodies**; Reality Killed the Video Star, Robbie Williams (Tattoo shop)

**Remember the Name**; The Rising Tied, Fort Minor (Endgame/"Agent Rider…")

**Enth e Nd**; Reanimated, Linkin Park (End Theme)

**The Resolution**; The Glass Passenger, Jack's Mannequin (End Theme 2)

**Kryptonite**; The Better Life, Three Doors Down (Tom's Song)

**Fix You**; X&Y, Coldplay (Katie's Song)

**Distant Early Warning**; Grace Under Pressure, Rush (Brent's Song)


End file.
